| |
| COME, hoist the sail, the fast let go! | |
| They’re seated side by side; | |
| Wave chases wave in pleasant flow; | |
| The bay is fair and wide. | |
| |
| The ripples lightly tap the boat; | 5 |
| Loose! Give her to the wind! | |
| She shoots ahead; they’re all afloat; | |
| The strand is far behind. | |
| |
| No danger reach so fair a crew! | |
| Thou goddess of the foam, | 10 |
| I ’ll ever pay thee worship due, | |
| If thou wilt bring them home. | |
| |
| Fair ladies, fairer than the spray | |
| The prow is dashing wide, | |
| Soft breezes take you on your way, | 15 |
| Soft flow the blessèd tide. | |
| |
| O, might I like those breezes be, | |
| And touch that arching brow, | |
| I ’d dwell forever on the sea | |
| Where ye are floating now. | 20 |
| |
| The boat goes tilting on the waves; | |
| The waves go tilting by; | |
| There dips the duck,—her back she laves; | |
| O’erhead the sea-gulls fly. | |
| |
| Now, like the gulls that dart for prey, | 25 |
| The little vessel stoops; | |
| Now, rising, shooting along her way, | |
| Like them, in easy swoops. | |
| |
| The sunlight falling on her sheet, | |
| It glitters like the drift, | 30 |
| Sparkling, in scorn of summer’s heat | |
| High up some mountain rift. | |
| |
| The winds are fresh; she ’s driving fast | |
| Upon the bending tide; | |
| The crinkling sail, and crinkling mast, | 35 |
| Go with her side by side. | |
| |
| Why dies the breeze away so soon? | |
| Why hangs the pennant down? | |
| The sea is glass; the sun at noon.— | |
| Nay, lady, do not frown; | 40 |
| |
| For, see, the wingèd fisher’s plume | |
| Is painted on the sea; | |
| Below, a cheek of lovely bloom. | |
| Whose eyes look up to thee? | |
| |
| She smiles; thou need’st must smile on her: | 45 |
| And see, beside her face, | |
| A rich, white cloud that doth not stir: | |
| What beauty, and what grace! | |
| |
| And pictured beach of yellow sand, | |
| And peakèd rock and hill, | 50 |
| Change the smooth sea to fairy-land; | |
| How lovely and how still! | |
| |
| From that far isle the thresher’s flail | |
| Strikes close upon the ear; | |
| The leaping fish, the swinging sail | 55 |
| Of yonder sloop, sound near. | |
| |
| The parting sun sends out a glow | |
| Across the placid bay, | |
| Touching with glory all the show.— | |
| A breeze! Up helm! Away! | 60 |
| |
| Careening to the wind, they reach, | |
| With laugh and call, the shore. | |
| They ’ve left their footprints on the beach, | |
| But them I hear no more. | |
| |
