 | Poems |  |
69
OUR SHIPS.
Our stately ships! in fleet career,
They linger not behind,
Where gallant sails from other lands
Court favoring tide and wind.
With banners on the breeze, they leap
As gayly o'er the foam,
As lofty barks from prouder seas
That long have learned to roam.
They linger not behind,
Where gallant sails from other lands
Court favoring tide and wind.
With banners on the breeze, they leap
As gayly o'er the foam,
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That long have learned to roam.
The Indian wave, with luring smiles,
Swept round them bright to-day;
And havens to Atlantic isles
Are opening on their way;
Ere yet these evening shadows close,
Or this frail song is o'er,
Full many a straining mast will rise
To greet a foreign shore.
Swept round them bright to-day;
And havens to Atlantic isles
Are opening on their way;
Ere yet these evening shadows close,
Or this frail song is o'er,
Full many a straining mast will rise
To greet a foreign shore.
High up the lashing Northern deep,
Where glimmering watch-lights beam,—
Away in beauty where the stars
In tropic brightness gleam,—
Where'er the sea-bird wets her beak,
Or blows the stormy gale,—
On to the water's farthest verge
Our ships majestic sail.
Where glimmering watch-lights beam,—
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In tropic brightness gleam,—
Where'er the sea-bird wets her beak,
Or blows the stormy gale,—
On to the water's farthest verge
Our ships majestic sail.
They dip their keels in every stream
That swells beneath the sky;
And where the thundering billows roll,
Their starry pennants fly:
They furl their sails in threatening clouds
That float across the main,—
To link with love earth's distant bays
In many a golden chain.
That swells beneath the sky;
And where the thundering billows roll,
Their starry pennants fly:
They furl their sails in threatening clouds
That float across the main,—
To link with love earth's distant bays
In many a golden chain.
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They deck our halls with sparkling gems
That shone on Orient strands,
And garlands round the hills they bind,
From far-off sunny lands;
But we will ask no gaudy wreath
From foreign clime or realm,
While safely glides our ship of state,
With Genius at the helm.
That shone on Orient strands,
And garlands round the hills they bind,
From far-off sunny lands;
But we will ask no gaudy wreath
From foreign clime or realm,
While safely glides our ship of state,
With Genius at the helm.
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