THE WHAUPS BLOWS the wind to-day, and the sun and the rain are flying Blows the wind on the moors to-day and now, Where about the graves of martyrs the whaups are crying, My heart remembers how! Gray, recumbent tombs of the dead in desert places, Standing stones on the vacant, red-wine moor, Hills of sheep, and the homes of the silent vanished races, And winds, austere and pure! 8 Be it granted me to behold you again in dying, Hills of home! and I hear again the callHear about the graves of the martyrs the pee ACROSS the narrow beach we flit, One little sandpiper and I; And fast I gather, bit by bit, The scattered driftwood bleached and dry. The Sandpiper The wild waves reach their hands for it, Above our heads the sullen clouds I see the close-reefed vessels fly, I watch him as he skims along, Comrade, where wilt thou be to-night When the loosed storm breaks furiously? 1872. Celia Thaxter. 16 24 32 THE SEA THE sea! the sea! the open sea! It runneth the earth's wide regions 'round; I'm on the sea! I'm on the sea! I am where I would ever be; With the blue above, and the blue below, If a storm should come and awake the deep, I love (Oh! how I love) to ride And tells how goeth the world below, 6 12 And why the south-west blasts do blow. 18 I never was on the dull, tame shore, A Wet Sheet and a Flowing Sea And a mother she was, and is, to me; 24 The waves were white, and red the morn, I've lived since then, in calm and strife, 30 With wealth to spend and a power to range, Shall come on the wild, unbounded sea! 1832. 36 Bryan Waller Procter. A WET SHEET AND A FLOWING SEA A WET sheet and a flowing sea, A wind that follows fast And fills the white and rustling sail And bends the gallant mast; And bends the gallant mast, my boys, While like the eagle free Away the good ship flies, and leaves “O for a soft and gentle wind!" I hear a fair one cry; 1822. But give to me the snoring breeze There's tempest in yon hornéd moon, The wind is piping loud, my boys, The lightning flashing free While the hollow oak our palace is, Allan Cunningham. 16 24 THE BLOOD HORSE GAMARRA is a noble steed, Strong, black, and of a noble breed, Full of fire, and full of bone, With all his line of fathers known; Fine his nose, his nostrils thin, But blown abroad by the pride within! ΙΟ |