.189 า THE SECRET OF THE SEA. Ah! what pleasant visions haunt me All the old romantic legends, All my dreams, come back to me. Sails of silk and ropes of sendal And the answer from the shore! Most of all, the Spanish ballad Like the long waves on a sea-beach, Telling how the Count Arnaldos How he heard the ancient helmsman Till his soul was full of longing, And he cried with impulse strong,- "Wouldst thou,"-so the helmsman answered, In each sail that skims the horizon, Hear those mournful melodies: Till my soul is full of longing For the secret of the sea, And the heart of the great ocean Sends a thrilling pulse through me. Henry W. Longfellow. LORD ULLIN'S DAUGHTER. A chieftain to the Highlands bound "Now who be ye, would cross Lochgyle; This dark and stormy water?" "O, I'm the chief of Ulva's isle, And this, lord Ullin's daughter. "And fast before her father's men Three days we've fled together, For should he find us in the glen, My blood would stain the heather. "His horsemen hard behind us ride; Should they our steps discover, Then who will cheer my bonny bride When they have slain her lover?" Out spoke the hardy Highland wight, "And by my word, the bonny bird By this the storm grew loud apace, But still as wilder blew the wind, "O haste thee, haste!" the lady cries, The boat has left the stormy land, When, oh! too strong for human hand The tempest gathered o'er her. And still they rowed amidst the roar For, sore dismayed, through storm and shade One lovely hand she stretched for aid, And one was round her lover. "Come back! come back!" he cried in grief, And I'll forgive your Highland chief, 'Twas vain; the loud waves lashed the shore, Return or aid preventing; The waters wild went o'er his child, And he was left lamenting. Thomas Campbell. TO HIS LOVE. Shall I compare thee to a summer's day? Sometime too hot the eye of heaven shines, But thy eternal summer shall not fade So long as men can breathe, or eyes can see, * 192 * BREAK, BREAK, BREAK. Break, break, break, On thy cold gray stones, O sea! O well for the fisherman's boy, That he shouts with his sister at play! That he sings in his boat on the bay! And the stately ships go on To the haven under the hill; But oh for the touch of a vanished hand, Break, break, break, At the foot of thy crags, oh sea! But the tender grace of a day that is dead Alfred Tennyson. |