Coral and sea-fan and tangle, the blooms and the palms of the ocean. Onward they came in their joy, more white than the foam which they scattered, Laughing and singing and tossing and twining, while eager, the Tritons Blinded with kisses their eyes, unreproved, and above them in worship Hovered the terns, and the sea-gulls swept past them on silvery pinions, Echoing softly their laughter; around them the wantoning dolphins Sighed as they plunged, full of love; and the great seahorses which bore them Curved up their crests in their pride to the delicate arms of the maidens, Pawing the spray into gems, till a fiery rainfall, unharming, Sparkled and gleamed on the limbs of the nymphs, and the coils of the mermen. Onward they went in their joy, bathed round with the fiery coolness, Needing nor sun nor moon, self-lighted, immortal: but others, Pitiful, floated in silence apart; in their bosoms the sea boys, Slain by the wrath of the seas, swept down by the anger of Nereus ; Hapless, whom never again on strand or on quay shall their mothers Welcome with garlands and vows to the temple, but wearily pining, F Gaze over island and bay for the sails of the sunken; they heedless Sleep in soft bosoms for ever, and dream of the surge and the sea-maids. C. KINGSLEY. [From The Spanish Gipsy, Book i.] HE Mid Sea that moans with memories. THE GEORGE ELIOT. [From The Spanish Gipsy, Book i.] 'HE untravelled ocean's restless tides. THE GEORGE ELIOT. [From The Spanish Gipsy, Book iv.] PUSH off the boat, Quit, quit the shore, The stars will guide us back : O gathering cloud, O wide, wide sea, O waves that keep no track! GEORGE ELIOT. [From A Minor Prophet.] 'HE sense of vastness, when at night THE We hear the roll and dash of waves that break Nearer and nearer with the rushing tide, Which rises to the level of the cliff Because the wide Atlantic rolls behind Throbbing respondent to the far-off orbs. GEORGE ELIOT. [From Home at last.] `EAR not, my child! FEAR Though the waves are white and high, And the storm blows wild Through the gloomy sky; On the edge of the western sea, Is the haven bright We shall rest from our stormy voyage In peace at last. Be not afraid; But give me thy hand, and see How the waves have made A cradle for thee. Night is come, dear, and we shall rest; So turn from the angry skies, And close thine eyes, And lay thy head on my breast: In the calm, cold, purple depths There we shall sleep. ADELAIDE ANNE PROCTER. [From Unexpressed.] WAVES of an unfathomable sea. A. A. PROCTER. [From A Legend of Provence.] ALL still, all silent, save the sobbing rush Of rippling waves, that lapsed in silver hush Upon the beach; where, glittering towards the strand, The purple Mediterranean kissed the land. A. A. PROCTER. The Sea-Limits. CONSIDER the sea's listless chime ; Time's self it is, made audible, The murmur of the earth's own shell. Secret continuance sublime Is the sea's end: our sight may pass No furlong further. Since time was, This sound hath told the lapse of time. No quiet, which is death's,—it hath As the world's heart of rest and wrath, Listen alone besides the sea, Listen alone among the woods; Shall have one sound alike to thee: Hark where the murmurs of thronged men Surge and sink back and surge again,— Still the one voice of wave and tree. Gather a shell from the strown beach DANTE GABRIEL ROSSETTI. |