 | Poems |  |
THE MATE'S RETURN.
On the quay, the young mate jumps from the boat;
Three long years has he seen afloat.
Three long years has he seen afloat.
Three weary years, and at length he lands;
Yes, there, with his sea-chest again he stands.
Yes, there, with his sea-chest again he stands.
Three long years, the world has he ranged;
Well, the black old seaport seems all unchanged.
Well, the black old seaport seems all unchanged.
Now, for a time, no more will he roam;
Money he has, and he'll not from home.
Money he has, and he'll not from home.
Comfort he'll have, and his toil shall cease;
Hardly he's earned some pleasure and peace.
Hardly he's earned some pleasure and peace.
Now for some land-life and joys ashore,
And one, than all others, to him that's more.
And one, than all others, to him that's more.
More than his old mother's face, though he
Longs to see that, that no dearer can be.
Longs to see that, that no dearer can be.
But there's one to his heart that's dearer still,
One always that's with him, go where he will.
One always that's with him, go where he will.
Whose is that thought-of name and face?
Whose but those of his darling Grace?
Whose but those of his darling Grace?
Grace, the girl that, the long years through,
Always his heart has been constant to.
Always his heart has been constant to.
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Grace, the dream that has guarded him
Always from sin, in frolic and whim.
Always from sin, in frolic and whim.
Grace, the whiteness, that made him endure
Scoffing and sneer from his shipmates, pure.
Scoffing and sneer from his shipmates, pure.
Grace, without whom, life joyless were;
And, in a few moments, he'll be with her.
And, in a few moments, he'll be with her.
Grace, in a mist his glad eyes swim,
As he thinks of her cry that will welcome him.
As he thinks of her cry that will welcome him.
Grace, no, flaunting wanton,—away,
Nothing to you has his tongue to say.
Nothing to you has his tongue to say.
Off! stand from him! to her he's true;
To her, his darling, he shudders from you.
To her, his darling, he shudders from you.
Wild was her laugh, but shrill is her shriek;
How does it dare his name to speak!
How does it dare his name to speak!
How does this outcast—this thing of shame,
Know him, and, shivering, shriek his name!
Know him, and, shivering, shriek his name!
He reels; as if dead, he lies on his face;
God! in that wanton, he's seen his Grace!
God! in that wanton, he's seen his Grace!
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