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Themes and Variations
THE SAILOR’S DREAM OF HOME.
I.
Oh, if I once could see the brown moorland
Where by my father’s side I used to play,
Or hear the thunder of that northern strand,
Whose ceaseless merriment tempted me away.
Where by my father’s side I used to play,
Or hear the thunder of that northern strand,
Whose ceaseless merriment tempted me away.
Are the boys asleep in the quiet house,
Where the pasture creeps to the sandy cove?
So soundly they sleep that no storm can rouse
Their heads from the pillow where white dreams rove.
Where the pasture creeps to the sandy cove?
So soundly they sleep that no storm can rouse
Their heads from the pillow where white dreams rove.
’Tis a windy place, and the poplar trees,
And the pines are twisted and bent by the blast,
When it shouts from the wold like the sweep of seas,
And strains at the door that is bolted fast.
And the pines are twisted and bent by the blast,
When it shouts from the wold like the sweep of seas,
And strains at the door that is bolted fast.
’Tis not daylight yet, but the master turns,
And fears lest his harvest, poor wheat, be laid.
Through the casement the red star of autumn burns,
And in pale streamers flutters the ivy braid.
And fears lest his harvest, poor wheat, be laid.
Through the casement the red star of autumn burns,
And in pale streamers flutters the ivy braid.
And the mother caresses her baby’s head—
‘Lie still, little robber, the day is not near,’
Like a nestling affrighted, he curls in his bed,
While the red cock raises his faithful cheer.
‘Lie still, little robber, the day is not near,’
Like a nestling affrighted, he curls in his bed,
While the red cock raises his faithful cheer.