On many a dreary and misty night 'Twill be seen by the rays of the signal light, Speeding along through the rain and the dark, Like a ghost in its snow-white sark, The pilot of some phantom bark, By a path none other knows aright. Each tall and tapering mast Is swung into its place; Shrouds and stays Holding it firm and fast! Long ago, In the deer-haunted forests of Maine, Lay the snow, They fell-those lordly pines ! Those grand, majestic pines! Panting beneath the goad, Dragged down the weary, winding road To feel the stress and the strain Of the wind and the reeling main, Whose roar Would remind them for evermore Of their native forest they should not see again. And everywhere The slender, graceful spars And at the mast head, White, blue, and red, A flag unrolls the stripes and stars. Ah! when the wanderer, lonely, friendless, That flag unrolled, 'Twill be as a friendly hand Stretched out from his native land, Filling his heart with memories sweet and endless. THE TWO BRIDALS All is finished! and at length Has come the bridal day Of beauty and of strength. To-day the vessel shall be launched! With fleecy clouds the sky is blanched, And o'er the bay, Slowly, in all his splendours dight, The great sun rises to behold the sight. Centuries old, Strong as youth, and as uncontrolled, Paces restless to and fro Up and down the sands of gold. His beating heart is not at rest; And far and wide, With ceaseless flow, His beard of snow Heaves with the heaving of his breast. He waits impatient for his bride. With her foot upon the sands, Decked with flags and streamers gay Her snow-white signals fluttering, blending, Ready to be The bride of the grey, old sea. On the deck another bride The prayer is said, The service read, The joyous bridegroom bows his head, Down his own the tears begin to run. The shepherd of that wandering flock, That has the ocean for its wold, Of the sailor's heart, All its pleasures and its griefs, And lift and drift with terrible force, 'Like unto ships far off at sea, And climb the crystal wall of the skies, As if we could slide from its outer brink. It is not the sea that sinks and shelves, That rock and rise With endless and uneasy motion, Now touching the very skies, Now sinking into the depths of ocean. Ah! if our souls but poise and swing To the toil and the task we have to do, Then the Master, With a gesture of command, Waved his hand; And at the word, Loud and sudden there was heard, The sound of hammers, blow on blow, She starts-she moves-she seems to feel And, spurning with her foot the ground, She leaps into the ocean's arms! And lo! from the assembled crowd How beautiful she is! How fair |