SEA-SHORE. 59 I SEA-SHORE. HEARD, or seemed to hear, the chiding Sea Say, Pilgrim, why so late and slow to come? Lie on the warm rock-ledges, and there learn I make your sculptured architecture vain, Behold the Sea, Rich are the sea-gods ;-who gives gifts but they? They grope the sea for pearls, but more than pearls : They pluck Force thence, and give it to the wise. For every wave is wealth to Dædalus, Wealth to the cunning artist who can work This matchless strength. Where shall he find, O waves! A load your Atlas shoulders cannot lift? "I, with my hammer pounding evermore My paths lead out The exodus of nations: I disperse Men to all shores that front the hoary main. "I, too, have arts and sorceries : Illusion dwells forever with the wave. I know what spells are laid. Leave me to deal For, though he scoop my water in his palm, Planting strange fruits and sunshine on the shore, R. W. Emerson. THE SAND-PIPER. A THE SAND-PIPER. CROSS the narrow beach we flit, And fast I gather, bit by bit, The scattered driftwood bleached and dry. Above our heads the sullen clouds Scud black and swift across the sky; Like silent ghosts in misty shrouds Stand out the white lighthouses high. Almost as far as eye can reach, I see the close-reefed vessels fly, I watch him as he skims along, He scans me with a fearless eye. Comrade, where wilt thou be to-night, 61 I do not fear for thee though wroth Thou little sand-piper and I ? Celia Thaxter. WOULD GOD I WERE NOW BY THE SEA! WOULD D God I were now by the sea! By the ragged rents of the rocks! I would spread my wings to the moist, salt air, Carry I heed not where, Somewhither far away, Somewhither far from my hateful home, Where the breast of the breeze is sprinkled with spray, Where the restless deep is maddened with glee ; Over the waves' wild ecstasy, Euripides. LOW TIDE. 63 LOW TIDE. UNDER the cliff I walk in silence, While the intrepid waters flow, And the white birds, lit by the sun into silver, And the tide is low. Here, years ago, in golden weather, And the tide was low. Only a little year fled by after, Then my bride and I came once more, Now I walk alone by the filmy breakers,- Henry Abbey. |