 | The bridal of Vaumond
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XVIII.
Now boune we on, my trembling bark!
Awhile o'erwhelm'd in ocean dark—
I see full many a swelling wave,
And blackly yawning gulfs that rave
Beyond us—hie thee on!
I dare not woo Parnassian gale,
To swell my unassuming sail;
Better it is to hug the shore,
Than where rocks lie hid and breakers roar
To vaunt and be undone!
Yet, all unenvying, may we mark
O'er ocean furrows, the gallant bark—
Her boom uncheck'd to the winds she throws,
With bellying canvass proud she goes;
While the helmsman scans with steady eye
The clear expanse or the clouded sky;
For whether the breeze be foul or fair,
He knows his port—she must go there!
O gallantly, gallantly rides she now,
While the torrent is whirling beneath her prow,
And the feathery foam of her crested spray,
And the deep voice of ocean their homage pay;—
O would that mine were that broad sail!
I dare not woo Parnassian gale!
| The bridal of Vaumond
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