Fugitive Poetry. 1600–1878/The Mariner's Song
The Mariner's Song.
'Tis a time of pride when the bark is prancing,
Like an Arab steed, o'er the waste of waves,
When her path behind in light is glancing,
And the fire-white foam her bowsprit laves;
Then, then, is the time of proud emotion,—
And if in the bosom a proud one sleep,
'Twill awake to dance to the music of ocean,
And sweep, with the winds, o'er the weltering deep.
Like an Arab steed, o'er the waste of waves,
When her path behind in light is glancing,
And the fire-white foam her bowsprit laves;
Then, then, is the time of proud emotion,—
And if in the bosom a proud one sleep,
'Twill awake to dance to the music of ocean,
And sweep, with the winds, o'er the weltering deep.
With my bark through her own blue path careering,
I never can envy the landsman's bliss;
No sun on the shore ever shone so cheering
As it sparkles down on a world like this!
What music can make the heart so sprightly
As the roll of the billows in the breeze?
What ball upon earth ever shone so brightly
As the stirring dance of the sun-lit seas?
I never can envy the landsman's bliss;
No sun on the shore ever shone so cheering
As it sparkles down on a world like this!
What music can make the heart so sprightly
As the roll of the billows in the breeze?
What ball upon earth ever shone so brightly
As the stirring dance of the sun-lit seas?