 | Jones Very : The Complete Poems |  |
The Arrival
The ship comes up the harbor. Every sailIs set on every mast. The sun is bright,
And the blue waters 'round seem to rejoice
With her that she has 'scaped all perils now,
And safe returned unto her destined port.
Upon the wharf are groups straining their eyes
To tell her signal, and conjecturing
Her name. Some aided by the glass pronounce
More surely. The aged seamen know her
By her spars. Boats put out to welcome her.
She's past the Island Light, past yonder head,
And soon she will be here—so swift she sails.
To the wharf's extreme a boy comes running.
He listens to the sounds borne on the breeze.
“That is my father's voice,” he cries o'erjoyed,
Yet half in doubt as though it might not be.
And then again, “That is my father's voice!”
Nearer the vessel comes. He sees him now,
And points him out there leaning o'er the side.
He's all beside himself with hope and joy.
The vessel nears the wharf. The captain speaks,
And swift the sailors fly to every rope.
The yards are dropt, the sails are quickly furled,
And motionless the noble vessel lies
Beside the pier. Joyous greetings follow.
But most glad of all the boy. Ere the ship
245
Had gained her deck, and seized his father's hand.
Poem No. 559; 5 April—23 October 1847
| Jones Very : The Complete Poems | |