Song - Wind Of The Sea

[A.T.]


Wind of the Sea, come fill my sail -
Lend me the breath of a freshening gale
    And bear my port-worn ship away!
For O the greed of the tedious town -
The shutters up and the shutters down!
    Wind of the Sea, sweep over the bay
    And bear me away! - away!

Whither you bear me, Wind of the Sea,
Matters never the least to me:
    Give me your fogs, with the sails adrip,
Or the weltering path thro' the starless night -
On, somewhere, is a new daylight
    And the cheery glint of another ship
    As its colors dip and dip!



Wind of the Sea, sweep over the bay
    And bear me away! - away!

James Whitcomb Riley

James Whitcomb Riley was an American writer, poet, and best-selling author. He was known as the "Hoosier Poet" and the "Children's Poet" for his dialect works and children's poetry respectively. Over his career, Riley authored approximately 1,000 poems, including "Little Orphant Annie" and "The Raggedy Man". His influence extended into the 20th century, and his works continued to be celebrated for their nostalgic and rural themes.

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English

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At Sea

O we go down to sea in ships -
But Hope remains behind,
And Love, with laughter on his lips,
And Peace, of passive mind;
While out across the deeps of night,
With lifted sails of prayer,
We voyage off in quest of light,
Nor find it anywhere.

O Thou who wroughtest earth and sea,
Yet keepest from our eyes
The shores of an eternity
In calms of Paradise,
Blow back upon our foolish quest
With all the driving rain
Of blinding tears and wild unrest,
And waft us home again.

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Becalmed

1
Would that the winds might only blow
As they blew in the golden long ago!
Laden with odors of Orient isles
Where ever and ever the sunshine smiles,
And the bright sands blend with the shady trees,
And the lotus blooms in the midst of these.

2
Warm winds won from the midland vales
To where the tress of the Siren trails
O'er the flossy tip of the mountain phlox
And the bare limbs twined in the crested rocks,
High above as the seagulls flap
Their lopping wings at the thunder-clap.

3
Ah! That the winds might rise and blow
The great surge up from the port below,
Bloating the sad, lank, silken sails
Of the Argo out with the swift, sweet gales
That blew from Colchis when Jason had
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Sailor-Boy's Song

Away, away, o'er the bounding sea
My spirit flies like a gull;
For I know my Mary is watching for me,
And the moon is bright and full.

She sits on the rock by the sounding shore,
And gazes over the sea;
And she sighs, "Will my sailor-boy come no more?
Will he never come back to me?"

The moonbeams play in her raven hair;
And the soft breeze kisses her brow;
But if your sailor-boy, love, were there,
He would kiss your sweet lips I trow.

And mother she sits in the cottage-door;
But her heart is out on the sea;
And she sighs, "Will my sailor-boy come no more?
Will he never come back to me?"

Ye winds that over the billows roam
With a low and sullen moan,
O swiftly come to waft me home;
O bear me back to my own.

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Sailor's Song, Returning

The sea goes up; the sky comes down.
Oh, can you spy the ancient town, -
The granite hills so green and gray,
That rib the land behind the bay?
O ye ho, boys. Spread her wings!
Fair winds, boys: send her home!
                O ye ho!

Three years? Is it so long that we
Have lived upon the lonely sea?
Oh, often I thought we'd see the town,
When the sea went up, and the sky came down.
O ye ho, boys. Spread her wings!

Even the winter winds would rouse
A memory of my father's house;
For round his windows and his door
They made the same deep, mouthless roar.
O ye ho, boys. Spread her wings!

And when the summer's breezes beat,
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The Sea-Fairies

Slow saild the weary mariners and saw,
Betwixt the green brink and the running foam,
Sweet faces, rounded arms, and bosoms prest
To little harps of gold; and while they mused,
Whispering to each other half in fear,
Shrill music reachd them on the middle sea.

Whither away, whither away, whither away? fly no more.
Whither away, from the high green field, and the happy blossoming shore?
Day and night to the billow the fountain calls;
Down shower the gambolling waterfalls
From wandering over the lea;
Out of the live-green heart of the dells
They freshen the silvery-crimson shells,
And thick with white bells the clover-hill swells
High over the full-toned sea.
O, hither, come hither and furl your sails,
Come hither to me and to me;
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Sea Song

Against the planks of the cabin side,
    (So slight a thing between them and me,)
The great waves thundered and throbbed and sighed,
    The great green waves of the Indian sea!

Your face was white as the foam is white,
    Your hair was curled as the waves are curled,
I would we had steamed and reached that night
    The sea's last edge, the end of the world.

The wind blew in through the open port,
    So freshly joyous and salt and free,
Your hair it lifted, your lips it sought,
    And then swept back to the open sea.

The engines throbbed with their constant beat;
    Your heart was nearer, and all I heard;
Your lips were salt, but I found them sweet,
    While, acquiescent, you spoke no word.

So straight you lay in your narrow bert...

Adela Florence Cory Nicolson