 | The poems of Robert Traill Spence Lowell |  |
117
THE MAIDEN OUTSIDE THE WORLD.
“Oh, this long, dull life at sea:
Day lagging into lagging night!”
The maiden sang, in the failing light:
“Forever sailing this sullen sea!
O Father, make sail, and leave me at land!
I see it broad on the larboard hand:
O Father, this life is death to me;
Forever holding the drowsy line,
Or drawing it drowsily in from the deep!
Thou art old: but youth, bright you this mine
Oh! why must I lean here, ever, and weep?
Make sail for land! It is nigh at hand:
Make sail for land! Make sail for land!
Once let me in God's fair garden stand,
And my slow blood shall leap.
Day lagging into lagging night!”
The maiden sang, in the failing light:
“Forever sailing this sullen sea!
O Father, make sail, and leave me at land!
I see it broad on the larboard hand:
O Father, this life is death to me;
Forever holding the drowsy line,
Or drawing it drowsily in from the deep!
Thou art old: but youth, bright you this mine
Oh! why must I lean here, ever, and weep?
Make sail for land! It is nigh at hand:
Make sail for land! Make sail for land!
Once let me in God's fair garden stand,
And my slow blood shall leap.
“I see no land, but a fog-cloud low:
Long hours have we eyed it, looming so:
No current sets here: land is not near:
Be, Child, as thou wert, this short while ago:
Think not of the land that thou dost not know!”
Long hours have we eyed it, looming so:
118
Be, Child, as thou wert, this short while ago:
Think not of the land that thou dost not know!”
Thus many a young heart, on Life's sea,
Will long for the far land under the lee;
And many a heart that time has tried
Will strive from the far land to keep it wide.
Will long for the far land under the lee;
And many a heart that time has tried
Will strive from the far land to keep it wide.
| The poems of Robert Traill Spence Lowell | |