University of Virginia Library

DOLORES MARIS.

“The earth is large,” said one of twain,
“The earth is large and wide;
And it is filled with misery
And death, on every side.”
Said the other: “Deep as it is wide
Is the sea, within all climes;
And it is fuller of misery
And death a thousand times.
The land has peaceful flocks and herds,
And sweet birds singing round;
But a myriad monstrous, hideous things
Within the sea are found.
Things all misshapen, slimy, cold,
Writhing, and strong, and thin;
And water-spouts, and whirlpools wild,
That draw the fair ships in.
I have heard of divers to the depths
Of the ocean forced to go,
To bring up pearls and twisted shells
From the viewless caves below;
I have heard of things in those dismal gulfs,
Like fiends, that hemmed them round:
I would not lead a diver's life
For every pearl that's found.
I have heard how the sea-snake, huge and dark,
In the Arctic flood doth roll;
He hath coiled his tail, like a cable strong,
All round and round the Pole.
They say, when he stirs in the sea below,
The ice-rocks split asunder,
The mountains huge of the ribbëd ice,
With a deafening crack like thunder.
There's many an isle man wots not of,
Where the air is heavy with groans;
And the floor of the sea, the wisest say,
Is covered with dead men's bones.
I'll tell thee what: there's many a ship
In the wild North Ocean frore,
That has lain in the ice a thousand years,
And will lie a thousand more.
And the men—each one is frozen there,
In the place where he did stand;
The oar he pulled, the rope he threw,
Is frozen in his hand.
The sun shines there, but it warms them not,
Their bodies are wintry cold;
They are wrapped in ice that grows and grows,
All solid, and white, and old.
And there's many a haunted desert rock,
Where seldom ship doth go,
Where unburied men with fleshless limbs
Are moving to and fro;
They people the cliffs, they people the caves,
A ghastly company:
I never sailed there in a ship myself,
But I know that such there be.
And oh! that hot and horrid tract
Of the ocean of the Line!
There are millions of the negro men
Under that burning brine.
The ocean-sea doth moan and moan
Like an uneasy sprite,
And the waves are wan with a fiendish fire
That burneth all the night.
'Tis a frightful thing to sail along,
Though a pleasant wind may blow,
When we think what a host of misery
Lies down in the sea below.
Didst ever hear of a little boat,
And in her there were three;
They had nought to eat, and nought to drink,
Adrift on the desert sea.
For seven days they bore their pain;
Then two men on the other
Did fix their longing, hungry eyes,
And that one was their brother.
And him they killed, and ate and drank,—
Oh me! 'twas a horrid thing!
For the dead should lie in a churchyard green,
Where the fragrant grasses spring.
And thinkest thou, but for mortal sin,
Such frightful things would be?—
In the land of the New Jerusalem
There will be no more sea.”