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CONVERSE WITH THE SEA.
What hast thou in thy treasure-house, O Sea?—
A thousand rivers long and deep and wide,
Once rivulets upon the mountain-side,
That wandered through the fields and glens, to me.
So gathered they, as thrifty trav'lers do,
Somewhat of all the lands they journeyed through:
The cavern's roar, the valley's lisping song,
The dripping cliffs with thunder loud and long,
The man-made mills, the clatter and turmoil
Of wheels that yoked their dancing floods to toil:
They brought me them, and gave me them to keep,
Till sun or gale should rouse them from their sleep.
A thousand rivers long and deep and wide,
Once rivulets upon the mountain-side,
That wandered through the fields and glens, to me.
So gathered they, as thrifty trav'lers do,
Somewhat of all the lands they journeyed through:
The cavern's roar, the valley's lisping song,
The dripping cliffs with thunder loud and long,
The man-made mills, the clatter and turmoil
Of wheels that yoked their dancing floods to toil:
They brought me them, and gave me them to keep,
Till sun or gale should rouse them from their sleep.
What hast thou in thy hands, O gentle Sea?—
Refreshing showers that shortly will arise,
Inveigled by the sun, to seek the skies—
Then from his passion-wooing strangely free,
Return unto the eager earth awhile,
To glad the blooms, and bid the forest smile.
For never tree or flower could love or live,
But for the strength my god-like missions give.
Cool zephyrs have I that 'mid summer heat,
Will fan the world, and bless whome'er they meet;
And gales that push their sharp blades everywhere,
And cut the poison from the withered air.
Refreshing showers that shortly will arise,
Inveigled by the sun, to seek the skies—
Then from his passion-wooing strangely free,
Return unto the eager earth awhile,
To glad the blooms, and bid the forest smile.
For never tree or flower could love or live,
But for the strength my god-like missions give.
Cool zephyrs have I that 'mid summer heat,
Will fan the world, and bless whome'er they meet;
And gales that push their sharp blades everywhere,
And cut the poison from the withered air.
What hast thou in thy shifting tides, O Sea?—
A thousand storms, that peacefully could lie
In their cloud-hammocks 'twixt the earth and sky,
Forgetting that to drift is scarce to be.
And now in slumber, now in seeming mirth,
They floated idly o'er the dappled earth:
Until a messenger of strife there came,
That gathered all the air in flood and flame,
And brought the floating cannon's lordly sound,
And made the startled sky a battle-ground:
Till, tired of strife, they sought a needful rest,
And flung themselves upon my willing breast.
A thousand storms, that peacefully could lie
In their cloud-hammocks 'twixt the earth and sky,
Forgetting that to drift is scarce to be.
And now in slumber, now in seeming mirth,
They floated idly o'er the dappled earth:
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That gathered all the air in flood and flame,
And brought the floating cannon's lordly sound,
And made the startled sky a battle-ground:
Till, tired of strife, they sought a needful rest,
And flung themselves upon my willing breast.
What hast thou on thy rugged floors, O Sea?—
A million ships, that ploughed my yielding spray,
All bearing hope for many a merry day:
A hope that had not learned of Fate's decree.
How little, when the shallops leave a place,
Can mind or soul their future moorings trace:
If they shall touch the ocean's edge once more,
Or, sinking, seek my underlying shore,
That has a myriad fleets that rot away—
Themselves their cumbrous anchors—day by day!
You wonder if their ghosts have skimmed the waves?—
It is not mine to answer:—ask their graves.
A million ships, that ploughed my yielding spray,
All bearing hope for many a merry day:
A hope that had not learned of Fate's decree.
How little, when the shallops leave a place,
Can mind or soul their future moorings trace:
If they shall touch the ocean's edge once more,
Or, sinking, seek my underlying shore,
That has a myriad fleets that rot away—
Themselves their cumbrous anchors—day by day!
You wonder if their ghosts have skimmed the waves?—
It is not mine to answer:—ask their graves.
What hast thou that is firm, O tossing Sea?—
Fair refuge-islands—where you mortals find
A help to soothe the weary heart and mind;
To my protection, all the world may flee!
I toss as feathered toys upon my hands,
The ocean-birds that brood in all the lands,
But give them homes in many a rocky nest,
Where they in firm tranquillity can rest;
I nurture in my realms of drowning space,
The island-builders of the coral race:—
Where find you more of firmness than in me?
For God Himself doth walk upon the Sea.
Fair refuge-islands—where you mortals find
A help to soothe the weary heart and mind;
To my protection, all the world may flee!
I toss as feathered toys upon my hands,
The ocean-birds that brood in all the lands,
But give them homes in many a rocky nest,
Where they in firm tranquillity can rest;
I nurture in my realms of drowning space,
The island-builders of the coral race:—
Where find you more of firmness than in me?
For God Himself doth walk upon the Sea.
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