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161
AT SEA.
Midnight in drear New England,
'Tis a driving storm of snow—
How the casement clicks and rattles,
And the wind keeps on to blow!
'Tis a driving storm of snow—
How the casement clicks and rattles,
And the wind keeps on to blow!
For a thousand leagues of coast-line,
In fitful flurries and starts;
The wild North-Easter is knocking
At lonely windows and hearts.
In fitful flurries and starts;
The wild North-Easter is knocking
At lonely windows and hearts.
Of a night like this, how many
Must sit by the hearth, like me,
Hearing the stormy weather,
And thinking of those at sea!
Must sit by the hearth, like me,
Hearing the stormy weather,
And thinking of those at sea!
Of the hearts chilled through with watching,
The eyes that wearily blink,
Through the blinding gale and snow-drift,
For the Lights of Navesink!
The eyes that wearily blink,
Through the blinding gale and snow-drift,
For the Lights of Navesink!
How fares it, my friend, with you?—
If I've kept your reckoning aright,
The brave old ship must be due
On our dreary coast, to-night.
If I've kept your reckoning aright,
The brave old ship must be due
On our dreary coast, to-night.
162
The fireside fades before me,
The chamber quiet and warm—
And I see the gleam of her lanterns
In the wild Atlantic storm.
The chamber quiet and warm—
And I see the gleam of her lanterns
In the wild Atlantic storm.
Like a dream, 'tis all around me—
The gale, with its steady boom,
And the crest of every roller
Torn into mist and spume—
The sights and the sounds of Ocean
On a night of peril and gloom.
The gale, with its steady boom,
And the crest of every roller
Torn into mist and spume—
The sights and the sounds of Ocean
On a night of peril and gloom.
The shroud of snow and of spoon-drift
Driving like mad a-lee—
And the huge black hulk that wallows
Deep in the trough of the sea.
Driving like mad a-lee—
And the huge black hulk that wallows
Deep in the trough of the sea.
The creak of cabin and bulkhead,
The wail of rigging and mast—
The roar of the shrouds, as she rises
From a deep lee-roll to the blast.
The wail of rigging and mast—
The roar of the shrouds, as she rises
From a deep lee-roll to the blast.
The sullen throb of the engine,
Whose iron heart never tires—
The swarthy faces that redden
By the glare of his caverned fires.
Whose iron heart never tires—
The swarthy faces that redden
By the glare of his caverned fires.
The binnacle slowly swaying,
And nursing the faithful steel—
And the grizzled old quarter-master,
His horny hands on the wheel.
And nursing the faithful steel—
And the grizzled old quarter-master,
His horny hands on the wheel.
163
I can see it—the little cabin—
Plainly as if I were there—
The chart on the old green table,
The book, and the empty chair.
Plainly as if I were there—
The chart on the old green table,
The book, and the empty chair.
On the deck we have trod together,
A patient and manly form,
To and fro, by the foremast,
Is pacing in sleet and storm.
A patient and manly form,
To and fro, by the foremast,
Is pacing in sleet and storm.
Since her keel first struck cold water,
By the Stormy Cape's clear Light,
'Tis little of sleep or slumber,
Hath closed o'er that watchful sight—
And a hundred lives are hanging
On eye and on heart to-night.
By the Stormy Cape's clear Light,
'Tis little of sleep or slumber,
Hath closed o'er that watchful sight—
And a hundred lives are hanging
On eye and on heart to-night.
Would that to-night, beside him,
I walked the watch on her deck,
Recalling the Legends of Ocean,
Of ancient battle and wreck.
I walked the watch on her deck,
Recalling the Legends of Ocean,
Of ancient battle and wreck.
But the stout old craft is rolling
A hundred leagues a-lee—
Fifty of snow-wreathed hill-side,
And fifty of foaming sea.
A hundred leagues a-lee—
Fifty of snow-wreathed hill-side,
And fifty of foaming sea.
I cannot hail him, nor press him
By the hearty and true right hand—
I can but murmur,—God bless him!
And bring him safe to the land.
By the hearty and true right hand—
I can but murmur,—God bless him!
And bring him safe to the land.
164
And send him the best of weather,
That, ere many suns shall shine,
We may sit by the hearth together,
And talk about Auld Lang Syne.
That, ere many suns shall shine,
We may sit by the hearth together,
And talk about Auld Lang Syne.
February 3d, 1859.
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