Volume Iii Part 59 (1/2)

And soon that toil shall end; Soon shalt thou find a summer home, and rest, And scream among thy fellows; reeds shall bend, Soon, o'er thy sheltered nest.

Thou'rt gone, the abyss of heaven Hath swallowed up thy form; yet, on my heart Deeply hath sunk the lesson thou hast given, And shall not soon depart.

He who, from zone to zone, Guides through the boundless sky thy certain flight, In the long way that I must tread alone, Will lead my steps aright.

William Cullen Bryant [1794-1878]

THE WOOD-DOVE'S NOTE

Meadows with yellow cowslips all aglow, Glory of suns.h.i.+ne on the uplands bare, And faint and far, with sweet elusive flow, The Wood-dove's plaintive call, ”O where! where! where!”

Straight with old Omar in the almond grove From whitening boughs I breathe the odors rare And hear the princess mourning for her love With sad unwearied plaint, ”O where! where! where!”

New madrigals in each soft pulsing throat-- New life upleaping to the brooding air-- Still the heart answers to that questing note, ”Soul of the vanished years, O where! where! where!”

Emily Huntington Miller [1833-1913]

THE SEA

SONG FOR ALL SEAS, ALL s.h.i.+PS

I To-day a rude brief recitative, Of s.h.i.+ps sailing the seas, each with its special flag or s.h.i.+p-signal, Of unnamed heroes in the s.h.i.+ps--of waves spreading and spreading far as the eye can reach, Of das.h.i.+ng spray, and the winds piping and blowing, And out of these a chant for the sailors of all nations, Fitful, like a surge.

Of sea-captains young or old, and the mates, and of all intrepid sailors, Of the few, very choice, taciturn, whom fate can never surprise nor death dismay, Picked sparingly without noise by thee, old ocean, chosen by thee, Thou sea that pickest and cullest the race in time, and unitest nations, Suckled by thee, old husky nurse, embodying thee, Indomitable, untamed as thee.

(Ever the heroes on water or on land, by ones or twos appearing, Ever the stock preserved and never lost, though rare, enough for seed preserved.)

II Flaunt out, O sea, your separate flags of nations!

Flaunt out visible as ever the various s.h.i.+p-signals!

But do you reserve especially for yourself and for the soul of man one flag above all the rest, A spiritual woven signal for all nations, emblem of man elate above death, Token of all brave captains and all intrepid sailors and mates, And all that went down doing their duty, Reminiscent of them, twined from all intrepid captains young or old, A pennant universal, subtly waving all time, o'er all brave sailors, All seas, all s.h.i.+ps.

Walt Whitman [1819-1892]

STANZAS From ”The Triumph of Time”

I will go back to the great sweet mother,-- Mother and lover of men, the Sea.

I will go down to her, I and none other, Close with her, kiss her, and mix her with me; Cling to her, strive with her, hold her fast; O fair white mother, in days long past Born without sister, born without brother, Set free my soul as thy soul is free.