 | A Summer Christmas and a Sonnet upon The S.S. "Ballaarat." |  |
Sooth'd by the sweet salt soughing breeze,
He linger'd over shapes like these,
Now peering from the ledge above
Into the clear depth of the cove,
Now gazing upward at a star,
And now across the sea afar,
To a lithe schooner-yacht that lay,
Nodding her slim masts, on the bay;
When suddenly he heard the plash,
And saw the phosphorescent flash
Of dipping oars, and then a skiff,
Making the shore beneath the cliff.
A muffled lady and old man
Sat in the stern-sheets; soon it ran
To where the coast with gradual sink
Sloped downwards to the water's brink.
He linger'd over shapes like these,
Now peering from the ledge above
Into the clear depth of the cove,
Now gazing upward at a star,
And now across the sea afar,
To a lithe schooner-yacht that lay,
Nodding her slim masts, on the bay;
When suddenly he heard the plash,
And saw the phosphorescent flash
Of dipping oars, and then a skiff,
Making the shore beneath the cliff.
A muffled lady and old man
Sat in the stern-sheets; soon it ran
To where the coast with gradual sink
Sloped downwards to the water's brink.
The old man rose, and lightly sprung
Ashore, and safe. The shallop swung
Just as his daughter leapt, and she
Sank in the clear depth of the sea;
She swerv'd and sank without a sound,
And as she fell the scarf unwound
That veil'd her features, and laid bare
A sweet fair face and gold of hair
Crowning it; as she sank she smiled,
And shot a glance intense and wild
Up at the ledge where Harold stood.
He in a strange ecstatic mood
Was gazing downwards at the flood,
And the wet face, which seem'd to be
That of a goddess of the sea.
Then in he plung'd, she gripp'd his arms
And, in the terror that disarms
The mind of reason, dragg'd him down,
As Sirens in the legend drown
The victims of their song.
He thought in that short minute's space
Of his long start and ill-run race,
Of all the waste and wrong
That crowded in his misspent life,
Of all the soarings and the strife
Of his foreshorten'd day,
Of ev'ry uncompleted aim,
Of unachiev'd desire of fame,
And chances slipp'd away:
And ere his senses lost control
He thought of his immortal soul,
And felt he could not pray.
Ashore, and safe. The shallop swung
Just as his daughter leapt, and she
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She swerv'd and sank without a sound,
And as she fell the scarf unwound
That veil'd her features, and laid bare
A sweet fair face and gold of hair
Crowning it; as she sank she smiled,
And shot a glance intense and wild
Up at the ledge where Harold stood.
He in a strange ecstatic mood
Was gazing downwards at the flood,
And the wet face, which seem'd to be
That of a goddess of the sea.
Then in he plung'd, she gripp'd his arms
And, in the terror that disarms
The mind of reason, dragg'd him down,
As Sirens in the legend drown
The victims of their song.
He thought in that short minute's space
Of his long start and ill-run race,
Of all the waste and wrong
That crowded in his misspent life,
Of all the soarings and the strife
Of his foreshorten'd day,
Of ev'ry uncompleted aim,
Of unachiev'd desire of fame,
And chances slipp'd away:
And ere his senses lost control
He thought of his immortal soul,
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| A Summer Christmas and a Sonnet upon The S.S. "Ballaarat." | |