Short Poems

And where the far-off sand-bars lift
Their backs in long and narrow line,
The breakers shout, and leap, and shift,
And toss the sparkling brine
Into the air; then rush to mimic strife:
Glad creatures of the sea, and full of life!—

He views the ships that come and go,
Looking so like to living things.
O! 't is a proud and gallant show
Of bright and broad-spread wings,
Making it light around them, as they keep
Their course right onward through the unsounded deep.

It brought the tear to many an eye,
That, once, his eye had made to quail.
“Lee, go with us; our sloop is nigh;
Come! help us hoist her sail.”
He shook.—“You know the Spirit-Horse I ride!
He 'll let me on the sea with none beside!”

They ask him why he wanders so,
From day to day, the uneven strand?
“I wish, I wish that I might go!
But I would go by land;
And there 's no way that I can find; I've tried
All day and night!”—He seaward looked, and sighed.

And on the shingle now he sits,
And rolls the pebbles 'neath his hands;
Now walks the beach; now stops by fits,
And scores the smooth, wet sands;
Then tries each cliff, and cove, and jut, that bounds
The isle; then home from many weary rounds.

Who 's sitting on that long, black ledge,
Which makes so far out in the sea,
Feeling the kelp-weed on its edge?
Poor, idle Matthew Lee!
So weak and pale? A year and little more,
And bravely did he lord it round the shore.

He goes!—So thou must loose thy hold,
And go with Death; nor breathe the balm
Of early air, nor light behold,
Nor sit thee in the calm
Of gentle thoughts, where good men wait their close.
In life, or death, where look'st thou for repose?

His spirit heard that Spirit say,
“Listen!—I twice have come to thee.
Once more,—and then a dreadful way!
And thou must go with me!”
Ay, cling to earth as sailor to the rock!
Sea-swept, sucked down in the tremendous shock,

Again the ship lights all the land;
Again Lee strides the Spectre-Beast;
Again upon the cliff they stand.
This once is he released!—
Gone ship and Horse; but Lee's last hope is o'er;
Nor laugh, nor scoff, nor rage, can help him more.

Bond-slave of sin! again the light!
“Ha! take me, take me from its blaze!”
Nay, thou must ride the Steed to-night!
But other weary days
And nights must shine and darken o'er thy head,
Ere thou shalt go with Him to meet the dead.