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.

Ilfracombe, 1849.

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 Sands Of Dee

Charles Kingsley, Simple Poetry

Ballad: Lorraine, Lorraine, Lorree

Charles Kingsley, Simple Poetry

Young And Old

Charles Kingsley, Simple Poetry

My Hunting Song

Charles Kingsley, Simple Poetry

English

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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 stron...

Charles Kingsley

Elegiacs

Wearily stretches the sand to the surge, and the surge to the cloudland;
Wearily onward I ride, watching the water alone.
Not as of old, like Homeric Achilles, ??de? ya???,
Joyous knight-errant of God, thirsting for labour and strife;
No more on magical steed borne free through the regions of ether,
But, like the hack which I ride, selling my sinew for gold.
Fruit-bearing autumn is gone; let the sad quiet winter hang o'er me -
What were the spring to a soul laden with sorrow and shame?
Blossoms would fret me with beauty; my heart has no time to bepraise them;
Gray rock, bough, surge, cloud, waken no yearning within.
Sing not, thou sky-lark above! even angels pass hushed by the weeper.
Scream on, ye sea-fowl! my heart echoes your desolate cry.
Sweep the dry sand on, thou wild wind...

Charles Kingsley

The Tide.

Landward the tide setteth buoyantly breezily, -
    Landward the waves ripple sparkling and free, -
Ho, the proud ship, like a thing of life, easily,
    Gracefully sweeps o'er the white-crested sea!
In from the far-away lands she is steering now,
    Straight for her anchorage, fearless and free, -
Lo, as I gaze, how she seems to be nearing now,
    Sun-lighted shores, a still haven, and me!

Landward the tide setteth! - mark my proud argosy
    As the breeze flutters her pennons of snow,
Wafting from far the glad mariner's melody
    O'er the blue waters in rhythmical flow!
Tell me, oh, soul of mine, what is the freightage fair
    'Neath her white wings that she beareth to thee?
Treasures of golden ore, gems from Golconda's shore,
    Lo, she is brin...

Pamela S. Vining (J. C. Yule)

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

I Found Her Out There

I found her out there
On a slope few see,
That falls westwardly
To the salt-edged air,
Where the ocean breaks
On the purple strand,
And the hurricane shakes
The solid land.

I brought her here,
And have laid her to rest
In a noiseless nest
No sea beats near.
She will never be stirred
In her loamy cell
By the waves long heard
And loved so well.

So she does not sleep
By those haunted heights
The Atlantic smites
And the blind gales sweep,
Whence she often would gaze
At Dundagel's far head,
While the dipping blaze
Dyed her face fire-red;

And would sigh at the tale
Of sunk Lyonnesse,
As a wind-tugged tress
Flapped her cheek like a flail;
Or listen at whiles
With a thought-bound brow

Thomas Hardy

The Three Fishers

Three fishers went sailing away to the West,
    Away to the West as the sun went down;
Each thought on the woman who loved him the best,
    And the children stood watching them out of the town;
    For men must work, and women must weep,
    And there's little to earn, and many to keep,
    Though the harbour bar be moaning.

Three wives sat up in the lighthouse tower,
    And they trimmed the lamps as the sun went down;
They looked at the squall, and they looked at the shower,
    And the night-rack came rolling up ragged and brown.
    But men must work, and women must weep,
    Though storms be sudden, and waters deep,
    And the harbour bar be moaning.

Three corpses lay out on the shining sands
    In the morning gleam as the tide went down,
...

Charles Kingsley