Classic Poem

The waves foam round the northern lands,
And o'er the white rocks leap with glee;
Upon the deck the master stands —
" My shipmates, out to sea!

" To beauteous France our bark doth sail,
To wealthy England o'er the brine;
We'll drink the nut-brown English ale,
The sparkling, cool French wine! "

And as the wind blows loud and wild,
And as the sails swell proudly o'er,
Thus speaks to him his only child,
Her farewell from the shore:

" Thou couldst into the green wood go,
Where clear, bright streams refresh the air;
But now the night-winds coldly blow
Thy thin, white, silver hair.

" Thou couldst repose the dark night through,
Within that small, warm room of thine;
But now you watch, and none but you,
Beneath the sad moonshine. "

Oh! maiden, peace! — by Helgoland,
By Helgoland, amid the deep, —
Thy father and his sailor band,
Beneath the blue waves sleep!