DOWN ON THE SHORE. 163 DOWN ON THE SHORE. OWN on the shore, on the sunny shore ! Dov Where the salt smell cheers the land; Where the tide moves bright under boundless light, And the surge on the glittering strand; Where the children wade in the shallow pools, Where the swift little boats with milk-white wings And the ship in full sail, with a fortunate gale, Where the nets are spread on the grass to dry, And asleep, hard by, the fishermen lie, Under the tent of the warm blue sky, With the hushing wave on its golden floor Down on the shore, on the stormy shore! Whose mad waves leap on the rocky steep, Like wolves up a traveller's tree. Where the foam flies wide, and an angry blast Where the brown sea-wrack, torn up by the roots, Where the tall ship rolls on the hidden shoals, Where slate and straw through the village spin, WILLIAM ALLINGHAM. BY THE MORNING SEA. THE ~HE wind shakes up the sleepy clouds And from their awful misty shrouds The mountains are new-born : The sea lies fresh with open eyes; Night-fears and moaning dreams, Some white-winged ship, a wandering star In brakes, in woods, in cottage-eaves, The early birds are rife, Quick voices thrill the sprinkled leaves With silent gratitude of flowers The morning's breath is sweet, And cool with dew, that freshly showers Round wild things' hasty feet. WAITING BY THE SEA. But the heavenly guests of tranquil hours To inner skies retreat, From human thoughts of lower birth That stir upon the waking earth. Across a thousand leagues of land Inherit this day and its doom A world of men the rays illume, But life that is not pure and bold 165 WILLIAM ALLINGHAM. WAITING BY THE SEA. ALONE upon the windy hills I stand and face the open sea, And drink the southern breeze that fills Far out the shores and woodlands reach, Alone upon the windy slopes, I watch the long, blue, level wall Of ocean, where my winged hopes, Like fluttering sea-birds, fly and call. O happy pilot-boats that dance And does she lean upon the deck, And strain her eyes till land appears, As I to catch the white-winged speck That clears away my gathering fears? By long, low beach and wooded crag O ocean, wrinkling in the sun! O breeze, that blowest from the sea! Waft into port, ere day is done, My love, my life, again to me! She comes, she comes! I see the sails, I hear the booming gun that hails THE MUSIC OF THE SEA. I hear the sailors' distant song, They crowd the deck in bustling glee; The sun has set, the air is still, 167 C. P. CRANCH. THE MUSIC OF THE SEA. From "The Golden Legend." THE night is calm and cloudless, And still as still can be, And the stars come forth to listen They gather, and gather, and gather, To the solemn litany. It begins in rocky caverns, As a voice that chants alone To the pedals of the organ In monotonous undertone; |