The Tide River

    Clear and cool, clear and cool,
By laughing shallow, and dreaming pool;
    Cool and clear, cool and clear,
By shining shingle, and foaming wear;
Under the crag where the ouzel sings,
And the ivied wall where the church-bell rings,
    Undefiled, for the undefiled;
    Play by me, bathe in me, mother and child.

    Dank and foul, dank and foul,
    By the smoky town in its murky cowl;
    Foul and dank, foul and dank,
    By wharf and sewer and slimy bank;
Darker and darker the farther I go,
Baser and baser the richer I grow;
    Who dare sport with the sin-defiled?
    Shrink from me, turn from me, mother and child.

    Strong and free, strong and free,
    The floodgates are open, away to the sea.
    Free and strong, free and strong,
    Cleansing my streams as I hurry along
To the golden sands, and the leaping bar,
And the taintless tide that awaits me afar,
As I lose myself in the infinite main,
Like a soul that has sinned and is pardoned again.
    Undefiled, for the undefiled;
    Play by me, bathe in me, mother and child.

From The Water-Babies.
Eversley, 1862.

Charles Kingsley

Charles Kingsley was an English writer, historian, and clergyman born on June 12, 1819, in Holne, Devon. He was associated with the Christian Socialist movement and was a friend of prominent figures such as Charles Darwin. Kingsley is best known for his historical novels, including 'Westward Ho!' and 'Hypatia,' as well as his children's book 'The Water-Babies.' His works often explore social issues and aim to contribute to societal reform. Kingsley died on January 23, 1875, in Eversley, Hampshire.

Charles Kingsley

The Song Of The Little Baltung. A.D. 395

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English

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The Summer Sea

    Soft soft wind, from out the sweet south sliding,
Waft thy silver cloud webs athwart the summer sea;
    Thin thin threads of mist on dewy fingers twining
Weave a veil of dappled gauze to shade my babe and me.

    Deep deep Love, within thine own abyss abiding,
Pour Thyself abroad, O Lord, on earth and air and sea;
    Worn weary hearts within Thy holy temple hiding,
Shield from sorrow, sin, and shame my helpless babe and me.

From The Water-Babies.    1862

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The Tide Rock

How sleeps yon rock, whose half-day's bath is done.
With broad blight side beneath the broad bright sun,
Like sea-nymph tired, on cushioned mosses sleeping.
Yet, nearer drawn, beneath her purple tresses
From drooping brows we find her slowly weeping.
    So many a wife for cruel man's caresses
    Must inly pine and pine, yet outward bear
    A gallant front to this world's gaudy glare.

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Charles Kingsley

Flood-Tide.

All night the thirsty beach has listening lain,
With patience dumb,
Counting the slow, sad moments of her pain;
Now morn has come,
And with the morn the punctual tide again.

I hear the white battalions down the bay
Charge with a cheer;
The sun's gold lances prick them on their way,--
They plunge, they rear,--
Foam-plumed and snowy-pennoned, they are here!

The roused shore, her bright hair backward blown,
Stands on the verge
And waves a smiling welcome, beckoning on
The flying surge,
While round her feet, like doves, the billows crowd and urge.

Her glad lips quaff the salt, familiar wine;
Her spent urns fill;
All hungering creatures know the sound, the sign,--
Quiver and thrill,
With glad expectance crowd and banquet at their wi...

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The Tides

I saw the long line of the vacant shore,
    The sea-weed and the shells upon the sand,
    And the brown rocks left bare on every hand,
    As if the ebbing tide would flow no more.
Then heard I, more distinctly than before,
    The ocean breathe and its great breast expand,
    And hurrying came on the defenceless land
    The insurgent waters with tumultuous roar.
All thought and feeling and desire, I said,
    Love, laughter, and the exultant joy of song
    Have ebbed from me forever!    Suddenly o'er me
They swept again from their deep ocean bed,
    And in a tumult of delight, and strong
    As youth, and beautiful as youth, upbore me.

Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

The First Bath of Ablution

The wind is keen, the frost is dread,
    Toward the icy water,
By aunt and mother forth is led
    The fisher's lovely daughter.

"Dive in, dive in, my child, with haste!
    There's naught whereon to ponder,
The time, dear heart, we must not waste:
    The sun has set out yonder.

"God's mercy, child, is great and sure:
    Fear not but He will show it!
Leap in,--leap out! and you are pure,--
    'Tis over ere you know it!"

The frost and cold with cruel knife
    The tender form assail.
Ah, would you be a Jewish wife,
    You must not weep and quail!

And in--and out,--she leaps. Once more!
    Poor girl, it has not served you.
No purer are you than before:
    A Gentile has observed you!

And into th' icy flood ...

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Trehill Well

There stood a low and ivied roof,
    As gazing rustics tell,
In times of chivalry and song
    'Yclept the holy well.

Above the ivies' branchlets gray
    In glistening clusters shone;
While round the base the grass-blades bright
    And spiry foxglove sprung.

The brambles clung in graceful bands,
    Chequering the old gray stone
With shining leaflets, whose bright face
    In autumn's tinting shone.

Around the fountain's eastern base
    A babbling brooklet sped,
With sleepy murmur purling soft
    Adown its gravelly bed.

Within the cell the filmy ferns
    To woo the clear wave bent;
And cushioned mosses to the stone
    Their quaint embroidery lent.

The fountain's face lay still as glass--
    Save wh...

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