COMING ACROSS.

139

E

COMING ACROSS.

VERY sail is full set, and the sky
And the sea blaze with light,

And the moon mid her virgins glides on
As St. Ursula might;

And the throb of the pulse never stops

In the heart of the ship,

As her measures of water and fire

She drinks down at a sip.

Yet I never can think, as I lie,

And so wearily toss,

That by saint or by star, or by ship,

I am coming across;

But by light which I know in dear eyes
That are bent on the sea,

And the touch I remember of hands

That are waiting for me

By the light of the eyes I could come,

If the stars should all fail;

And I think, if the ship should go down,
That the hands would prevail.

Ah! my darlings, you never will know
How I pined in the loss

Of you all, and how breathless and glad
I am coming across.

H. H.

I

FLOTSAM AND JETSAM.

'VE sailed the sea these many years,

Yet stout my heart, undimmed my eye; Whene'er I meet my sailing peers,

"All's well!" I to their shout reply.

These many years I've sailed the sea,
Been tossed by tempest, bound by calm ;

My freight was orient spicery,

And fruitage of the Indian palm.

Far lighter is my laden bark

Than when it left the morning shore :
To 'scape the waters hoarse and dark,
I freely cast abroad my store.

Of this, some part, in secret caves,

Lies mixed with dim, unfooted sands:

Some part is borne upon the waves
To richly portion barren stands.

I would some wrecker there might be
Where'er my noble freightage drifts,

To whom the undiscerning sea

;

Might bring these stolen things as gifts :

Thou shivering dweller by the sands,

Look what to thee a bankrupt sends!

What falls to thine unweeting hands

Shall house thee, feed thee, make thee friends.

BY THE SEA-SHORE.

I've sailed the sea these many years,

Yet stout my heart, undimmed my eye; When'er I meet my sailing peers,

"All's well!" I to their shout reply.

Now close at hand the roadstead lies,
Nor shall I shame to enter there,
Though my good ship hath lost her prize,-
Keel split and masts beyond repair!

141

Edith Thomas.

Each higher wave

Doth touch and lave

A million pebbles smooth and bright; Straightway they grow

A beauteous show,

With hues unknown before bedight.

High up the beach,

Far out of reach

Of common tides that ebb and flow,

The drift wood's heap

Doth record keep

Of storms that perished long ago.

Nor storms alone :

I hear the moan

Of voices choked by dashing brine,

When sunken rock

Or tempest shock

Crushed the good vessel's oaken spine

Where ends the beach,

The cliffs upreach

Their lichened bastions, centuries old;

And here I rest,

While all the west

Grows brighter with the sunset's gold.

Far out at sea,

The ships that flee

Along the dim horizon's line

Their sails unfold

Like cloth of gold,

Transfigured by that light divine.

I shall rejoice

With heart and voice

That one such day has ever been.

J. W. Chadwick.

WHAT ARGUMENT?

Nor knowest thou what argument
Thy life to thy neighbor's creed hath lent.

DRIFTING dreamily with the tide,

EMERSON.

Slowly away from the sunset's gold,

Leaning over our vessel's side,

We watched the sail with its drooping fold.