The poems of John G. C. Brainard A new and authentic collection, with an original memoir of his life |
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 | The poems of John G. C. Brainard |  |
I.
The sun's beam and the moon's beam check the sea,
The light wave smiles in both, and sportingly
Catching the silver on its deep blue side,
Throws it in spangles on the westering tide,
And tints the golden edges of the beam
That last and sweetest trembles on the stream;
For sure 't is moonlight—see the sun give way,
And yon fair orb light up another day,
A calmer, softer morning than the hour
Of real morn, howe'er bedecked with flower,
Or bud, or song, or dew-drop—the sun's feast,
Or all the gorgeous glories of the East.
The light wave smiles in both, and sportingly
Catching the silver on its deep blue side,
Throws it in spangles on the westering tide,
And tints the golden edges of the beam
That last and sweetest trembles on the stream;
For sure 't is moonlight—see the sun give way,
And yon fair orb light up another day,
A calmer, softer morning than the hour
Of real morn, howe'er bedecked with flower,
Or bud, or song, or dew-drop—the sun's feast,
Or all the gorgeous glories of the East.
What boat is that! yon lonely little boat,
Sculling and rippling through the shades, that float
On yon sequestered bay; and mark the trees,
Bending so beautifully in the breeze.
It steals from out the shade, and now the tide
Presses its bow and chafes against its side;
She seems to wear her way with little strength,
Feeble, but yet determined, till at length
The skiff comes near and nearer—“boat ahoy!
What scull is that and who are you, my boy?”
Sculling and rippling through the shades, that float
On yon sequestered bay; and mark the trees,
Bending so beautifully in the breeze.
It steals from out the shade, and now the tide
Presses its bow and chafes against its side;
She seems to wear her way with little strength,
Feeble, but yet determined, till at length
The skiff comes near and nearer—“boat ahoy!
What scull is that and who are you, my boy?”
| The poems of John G. C. Brainard | |