A WET SHEET AND A FLOWING SEA

鳳

ALLAN CUNNINGHAM

WET sheet and a flowing sea

A wind that follows fast,

And fills the white and rustling sail,

And bends the gallant mast

And bends the gallant mast, my boys,

While, like the eagle free,

Away the good ship flies, and leaves
Old England on the lee.

Oh for a soft and gentle wind!
I heard a fair one cry;

But give to me the snoring breeze,
And white waves heaving high
And white waves heaving high, my lads,
The good ship tight and free;
The world of waters is our home,
And merry men are we.

There's tempest in yon hornèd moon,
And lightning in yon cloud;

And hark the music, mariners!

The wind is piping loud

The wind is piping loud, my boys,

The lightning flashing free;
While the hollow oak our palace is,
Our heritage the sea.

In my ain countree.

Oh, gladness comes to many,

But sorrow comes to me, As I look o'er the wide ocean Το my ain countree.

Oh, it's nae my ain ruin

That saddens aye my e'e,

But the love I left in Galloway,
Wi' bonnie bairnies three.
My hamely hearth burnt bonnie,

An' smiled my fair Marie:
I've left my heart behind me

The bud comes back to summer,

And the blossom to the bee;
But I'll win back — oh never,

To my ain countree.
I'm leal to the high heaven,

Which will be leal to me,
An' there I'll meet ye a' sune
Frae my ain countree.

THE SEA

BARRY CORNWALL (B. W. PROCTER)

THE Sea! the Sea! the open Sea!

The blue, the fresh, the ever free!

Without a mark, without a bound,

It runneth the earth's wide regions 'round; It plays with the clouds; it mocks the skies; Or like a cradled creature lies.

I'm on the Sea! I'm on the Sea!

I am where I would ever be;

With the blue above, and the blue below,
And silence wheresoe'er I go;

If a storm should come and awake the deep,
What matter? I shall ride and sleep. :

I love, O! how I love, to ride
On the fierce, foaming, bursting tide,
When every mad wave drowns the moon
Or whistles aloft his tempest tune,
And tells how goeth the world below,
And why the south-west blasts do blow.

I never was on the dull, tame shore,
But I lov'd the great Sea more and more,

And backwards flew to her billowy breast,
Like a bird that seeketh its mother's nest;
And a mother she was, and is, to me;
For I was born on the open Sea!

The waves were white, and red the morn,
In the noisy hour when I was born;
And the whale it whistled, the porpoise roll'd,
And the dolphins bared their backs of gold;
And never was heard such an outcry wild
As welcom'd to life the ocean-child!

I've lived since then, in calm and strife,

Full fifty summers, a sailor's life,

With wealth to spend, and power to range,

But never have sought nor sighed for change;
And Death, whenever he comes to me,
Shall come on the wild, unbounded Sea!

THE OWL

BARRY CORNWALL (B. W. PROCTER)

IN the hollow tree, in the gray old tower,

IN hollow in

The spectral owl doth dwell;

Dull, hated, despised in the sunshine hour,

But at dusk, he's abroad and well:

Not a bird of the forest e'er mates with him;
All mock him outright by day;

But at night, when the woods grow still and dim,
The boldest will shrink away;

O, when the night falls, and roosts the fowl,
Then, then is the reign of the horned owl!

And the owl hath a bride who is fond and bold,
And loveth the wood's deep gloom;

And with eyes like the shine of the moonshine cold
She waiteth her ghastly groom!

Not a feather she moves, not a carol she sings,
As she waits in her tree so still;

But when her heart heareth his flapping wings,
She hoots out her welcome shrill!

O, when the moon shines, and the dogs do howl,
Then, then is the cry of the horned owl!