The Hope of the World and other poems by Charles Mackay |
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SEA SORROW;
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 | The Hope of the World and other poems |  |
157
SEA SORROW;
OR, YEARNING FOR HOME.
Sadly howls the cold sea blast,
And fiercely the wild waves beat,
And a thousand miles away from home,
I toss about on the ocean foam,
And dream of my children sweet.
And fiercely the wild waves beat,
And a thousand miles away from home,
I toss about on the ocean foam,
And dream of my children sweet.
Sad are the sounds in this lonely ship,
To one home-sick like me;
The flapping of the wide wet sail,
The moaning of the restless gale,
And the murmur of the sea.
To one home-sick like me;
The flapping of the wide wet sail,
The moaning of the restless gale,
And the murmur of the sea.
160
All night I dream of the sounds of land;
Of the chant of the early lark;
Of the peasant whistling o'er the lea,
And the cow-boy trolling lustily,
Some love song in the dark.
Of the chant of the early lark;
Of the peasant whistling o'er the lea,
And the cow-boy trolling lustily,
Some love song in the dark.
I dream of the pleasant rustic bench
That stands at my cottage door;
I dream of my wife, and prattling boys
Climbing my knees with a merry noise,
All under my sycamore.
That stands at my cottage door;
I dream of my wife, and prattling boys
Climbing my knees with a merry noise,
All under my sycamore.
Oh! if ever I see my beloved one more,
And press her to my heart,
Never again shall my footsteps stray;
Never to regions far away,
Shall the sire of her babes depart!
And press her to my heart,
Never again shall my footsteps stray;
Never to regions far away,
Shall the sire of her babes depart!
161
Sorrow shall teach my mind content
With a small sufficient store;
Bless'd with the love of one true soul,
Let wild winds blow and billows roll,
I'll tempt them never more;—
With a small sufficient store;
Bless'd with the love of one true soul,
Let wild winds blow and billows roll,
I'll tempt them never more;—
But dwell in my little cot at peace,
Heedless of India's wealth;
Careless of empty power or fame,
Rich in my own unsullied name,
And a happy home, with health.
Heedless of India's wealth;
Careless of empty power or fame,
Rich in my own unsullied name,
And a happy home, with health.
Blow, thou auspicious wind, blow fair,
We've a thousand miles to run;
But Hope returns, though long denied,
As I lean upon the good ship's side,
And count them one by one.
We've a thousand miles to run;
But Hope returns, though long denied,
As I lean upon the good ship's side,
And count them one by one.
| The Hope of the World and other poems | |