Look how the gray old Ocean
From depths of his heart rejoices,
Heaving with a gentle motion,
When he hears our restful voices;
List how he sings in an undertone,
Chiming with our melody;

And all sweet sounds of earth and air
Melt into one low voice alone,

-

That murmurs over the weary sea,
And seems to sing from everywhere, -
"Here may'st thou harbor peacefully,
Here may'st thou rest from the aching oar;
Turn thy curvèd prow ashore,

And in our green isle rest forevermore!
Forevermore!"

And Echo half wakes in the wooded hill,
And, to her heart so calm and deep,
Murmurs over in her sleep,

Doubtfully pausing and murmuring stul, "Evermore!"

Thus on Life's weary sea,

Heareth the marinere

Voices sweet, from far and near,

Ever singing low and clear,

Ever singing longingly.

Is it not better here to be,
Than to be toiling late and soon?
In the dreary night to see
Nothing but the blood-red moon
Go up and down into the sea;
Or, in the loneliness of day,

To see the still seals only
Solemnly lift their faces gray,
Making it yet more lonely?
Is it not better, than to hear
Only the sliding of the wave
Beneath the plank and feel so near
A cold and lonely grave,

A restless grave, where thou shalt lie
Even in death unquietly?

Look down beneath thy wave-worn bark,

Look over the side and see

The leaden eye of the side-long shark
Upturned patiently,

Ever waiting there for thee:

Look down and see those shapeless forms,
Which ever keep their dreamless sleep
Far down within the gloomy deep,
And only stir themselves in storms,
Rising like islands from beneath,

50

60

And snorting through the angry spray,
As the frail vessel perisheth

In the whirls of their unwieldy play;

Look down! Look down!

Upon the seaweed, slimy and dark,

That waves its arms so lank and brown,
Beckoning for thee!

Look down beneath thy wave-worn bark

Into the cold depth of the sea!

Look down! Look down!

Thus, on Life's lonely sea,

Heareth the marinere

Voices sad from far and near,

Ever singing full of fear,

Ever singing drearfully.

Here all is pleasant as a dream;

The wind scarce shaketh down the dew,
The green grass floweth like a stream
Into the ocean's blue;

Listen! O listen!

Here is a gush of many streams,

A song of many birds,

And every

wish and longing seems

Lulled to a numbered flow of words,

8

90

Listen! O listen!

Here ever hum the golden bees
Underneath full-blossomed trees,

At once with glowing fruit and flowers crowned;-
The sand is so smooth, the yellow sand,

That thy keel will not grate as it touches the land;
All around, with a slumberous sound

The singing waves slide up the strand,
And there, where the smooth, wet pebbles be,

The waters gurgle longingly,

As if they fain would seek the shore,
To be at rest from the ceaseless roar,
To be at rest forevermore,

Forevermore!

Thus, on Life's gloomy sea,
Heareth the marinere

Voices sweet, from far and near,
Ever singing in his ear,

"Here is rest and peace for thee!"

NANTASKET, July, 1840.

100

THE COURTIN'

ZEKLE crep' up, quite unbeknown,
An' peeked in thru' the winder,
An' there sot Huldy all alone,
'Ith no one nigh to hender.

Agin the chimbly crooknecks hung,
An' in amongst 'em rusted

The ole queen's arm thet gran'ther Young
Fetched back from Concord busted.

The wannut logs shot sparkles out
Towards the pootiest, bless her!
An' leetle fires danced all about
The chiny on the dresser.

The very room, coz she wuz in,
Looked warm frum floor to ceilin',

And she looked full ez rosy agin
Ez th' apples she wuz peelin'.