 | Areytos or songs and ballads of the South |  |
TO THE SEA.
ON MY FIRST VOYAGE.
I.
I hear thee through thy voices, mighty Sea!I watch thee through thy billows, never stay'd;
Thine is the sleepless march of destiny,
Thine is the might, in majesty array'd,
That mocks the ambitious, makes the fond afraid;
Laughing alike at human strength and prayer;
Rolling thy sullen waves o'er hearts that made
Their trust in thee to waft them to the dear,
Who still survey thy deeps in hopefulness and fear!
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II.
The awe that is unbounded fills my soul,As I behold thee, limitless and lone;
Driving still onward, scorning all control;
Keeping thy march, that never may be done,
While man surveys thee, and the reverend sun
Directs thy course along the mighty deeps:
Thou seek'st a goal that never may be won,
With race for aye renewing—seldom sleeps
Thy wing that never tires, thy form that never creep
III.
The frail barque bears me, bounding o'er thy breast,Yet am I not thy master! In my hand
I grasp no bridle which shall bid thee rest,
No curb which may subdue thee to command,
No scourge to make thee tremble and to stand;
Thou laugh'st at human conqueror—though thy mood,
The mood of power in sport, at moments bland,
Moves thee to yield a pathway through thy flood,
To him who seeks for sway through darker seas of blood.
IV.
Upon thy shores he marshals his array,His soul exulting in his numerous bands;
He pants to give the signal for the fray—
For conflicts, which shall redden all thy sands
With human gore, and drain from distant lands
Their strength and beauty! A barbaric cry
Begins the work of death; keen, clashing brands
Strike to the hearts of kindred; in the sky
Hurtles an iron storm from devilish enginery!
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V.
Through the long day the work of death proceeds;The terrors that once shook, familiar now,
The men of blood grow sportive in their deeds,
And rush where Rage, with grim and ghastly brow,
Shakes his red spear and aims his deadly blow!
With equal fury, a superior hate,
And better skill and strength, he meets a foe
Who stops him in his march! In scorn elate,
The conqueror strides o'er earth and does the work of fate!
VI.
Yet, Ocean, thou arisest on his path,And half revengest all his deeds of wrong;
His navies vainly seek to fly thy wrath:
Thou hear'st no threat of pow'r, thou fear'st no thong,
Nor will thy rage permit the conflict long!
Thy trophies are oblivion! Thou dost set
Thy seal, in mountains, o'er the fierce and strong;
Vain are the toils of valor!—never yet
Hath force such force o'ercome—hath foe such foeman met!
VII.
Earth covers not her victims: man may slay,But still the proofs of human crime remain—
No friendly hand to hide them from the day,
Conveys the bloody corses of the slain
To the veil'd realms of silence, from the plain
Late shaken by their thunders! But thy power
Needs no appeal for Heaven's benignant rain,
To cleanse from crimson sand, bruis'd leaf and flower,
And shuddering eyes of man the blood proofs of thy hour!
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VIII.
The winds that gather on thy breast by night,Bear to the distant cities all the tale
Thou deign'st them, of the forms which in their sight
Held hearts most precious! Thou hast heard the wail
That followed thy dread tidings, and thy gale
Has mock'd their griefs, and new aroused their fears
For others, like the lost ones, who make sail,
Trusting thy mercies! Many a watcher hears
Thy storms, that rise by night, with trembling and in tears!
IX.
The thin plank only keeps me from thy grasp;The thin sail only lifts me o'er thy breast;
Thy mighty arms seem stretching out to clasp—
Thy mighty passions, in thy roar exprest,
Seem toiling now, and bounding to arrest
The flight of thy new victim!—madly glare
Thy vengeful eyes of terror!—thou would'st wrest
Thy prey, despite the mercy which would spare—
The mercy born of love, sole sovereign every where!
X.
Still mighty, though thy wilder mood be stay'd,Thou mov'st not less my homage, that I feel
Thy billows baffled, and thy storms, that play'd
With wrecks, subdued to airs of May, that steal
Around me with a blessing, and reveal
Visions of gentlest climes; sweet streams that glide
Through groves and broad savannahs, where the seal
Has never shut the fountain—where the pride
That vexes human hope, is forc'd from Nature's side.
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XI.
And peace is o'er the land, even as a veilThat holds the freshening waters—as the dove,
Unharm'd and harmless, that descends the dale,
And glides the social emblem of the grove,
Whose inmates, in their attribute of love,
Acknowledge a superior law to ours;
There still the sole communion helps to prove
The principle of promise for our bowers—
Love, which alone can charm the serpent from their flowers.
XII.
That love shall spell thy tempests, mighty Sea!Its voice of power is no thee, and confess'd,
Thy tossing limbs are fetter'd! Thou shalt be
Subdued, even as an infant sunk to rest—
Thou, that with giant limbs and heaving breast,
Strove 'gainst the heavens, and leagued with storm, arose
Like one with fiendish enemies possessed:
Mad with unmeasured wrath, still prompt for blows,
Denied repose thyself, denying all repose!
XIII.
Roll on! roll on!—thy billows bear me far—And if my bones must whiten in the wave,
Beneath the influence of malignant star,
I would not ask from fate a kinder grave,
Nor offer up the homage which might save!
It might be longer life were longer wo;
And he whom fortune still hath will'd to brave,
Might, safely rendered to his home below,
Find young affection's tear had long since ceased to flow.
| Areytos or songs and ballads of the South | |