Classic Poem

I waited then by that fair sea
Till the power of evening came on me.
I saw the sunset colors fall
Paler and fainter on the wall,
And watched the broken shadows grow
Dark and long on the sand below;
And the sea was gone far down the shore
With the same soft sounds for evermore.
Still on the quivering level lay
The last dull crimson lights of day,
When to my feet a bright green boat
Softly and gaily seemed to float,
With neither helm, nor sail, nor oar,
Over the shallows on the shore.
Green it was as the living tide
Whereon its little prow should ride,
And lighter than the foam-wreaths frail
That o'er the windy ocean sail.
Within, a silver Anchor stood,
And a Crucifix of scented wood
Upon the seat was laid;
And round it some large foreign flowers
With fresh leaves from the ivy bowers
Into a crown were made,
Swifter and swifter did I float
Eastward in the bright green boat;
And, as the coast grew dim and white,
I sank in awe upon my knee,
And trusted myself for the dark night
To the holy Cross and to the sea.
No breath upon the deep did move.
The moon was not in her place above.
With steadiest motion all along
The boat on her path did steal,
Without a sound, but the murmuring song
Of the water round the keel:
And through the gloom, without a bound,
The purple ocean lay around.
The snowy sea-birds as they flew
Across the deep midnight,
From off their lustrous plumage threw
Flashes of sudden light.
Yet did I not feel lonely there,
For ever a scent, like incense rare,
Stole from the Cross on the warm night air;
And the dew that clung upon the flowers
Sweet memories of earth's pale bowers
Back to my heart did bring;
Like the cold and sunny winds that yield
The fragrance out of the meadow field
In the first fresh days of spring.
And thus was that little boat to me
A quiet Church on the holy sea!

But seven bright planets, one by one,
Rose from the waves as the boat drove on;
They rose in a crescent above the sea,
At first unclear, and falteringly,
But up in the sky the starry bow
Pierced with its rays the billows below,
And the tall thin shafts of the palest gold
Wavered and bent as the waters rolled,—
Bent, but they broke not; and the light
Was fairer far than a summer night,
When the moon, unthrifty of her brightness,
Paves the sea with a trembling whiteness.
Onward still did the shallop sail,
Till the sea was green and the stars grew pale;
And the sun as from the waves he went
Unlocked the pearly orient.
But eastward yet the bark did steal,
So swift the waves scarce wet the keel;
While in the dawn the cold fresh sea
Shone bright and murmured merrily.

Our life lies eastward: every day
Some little of that mystic way
By trembling feet is trod:
In thoughtful fast and quiet feast
Our thoughts go travelling to the East,
To our Incarnate God.
Fresh from the Font our childhood's prime
Is life's most oriental time.
Its joyous sights and mighty fears,
And feelings deep that work by tears,
Its dreams and smiles age cannot share,
Are borrowed from that region fair.
The beamy land, where morning lives
And Eden still is blooming, gives
Strange rays for childish hearts to hoard,
Bright flashes from the seraph-sword
That waves in Eden's light:
And still, when childhood's race is run
And God from Egypt calls His son
Through worldliest haze and rudest gleams,
The East comes back to us in dreams,
In holy dreams by night.
'Tis then o'er marvellous maps we pore,
Bare outlines of the Eastern shore,
And idly strive to fix the spot
Where Eden lies, with cave and grot,
And lawn, and river-sounds, away
In the heart of central Asia.
'Tis then love singles out the trees
With foreign-looking leaves,
And oft in summer's languid breeze
Poor fancy sits and weaves
Of each exotic shrub and flower
A shadow of an Eden bower,
When childhood's painted flag is furled,
And long chill shadows from the world
Are o'er our pathway thrown,
Still, while its early dreams escape,
The longing spirit fain would shape
An orient of its own.
Still doth it Eastward turn in prayer,
And rear its saving Altar there,
Still doth it Eastward turn in Creed,
While faith in awe each gracious deed
Of her dear Saviour's love doth plead,—
Still doth it turn at every line
To the far East—in sweet mute sign
That through our weary strife and pain
We crave our Eden back again.

We came unto a river's mouth,
Which hath its secret fountains
Away in the unpeopled south,
Among unpeopled mountains.
A sultry haze upon the sea,
And long low shore, lay heavily.
A bar of rocks stretched east and west
The frothy shallows under,
On which the chafing billows pressed
And broke in muffled thunder;
And further up the misty land
The waves foamed idly on the sand;
And on the sandbanks in the bay
Sea-dogs and seals together lay;
As though the hot mist of noon were sweet
After the deep's cold gloom,
They slept like the dogs at the marble feet
Of a Templar on his tomb,
All was still as a place of the dead,
Not a mountain lifted his far-off head.
Not an outline blue was seen.
Grass was not there, nor shady trees,
Not a branch or blade of green,
But a row of seaside villages
With low sand-hills between.
The bar is bare where the white waves sound,
And tide and stream are quivering round,
But the bark hath crossed, for the river bound.
It lay on the mane of a long green billow,
As a gull might rest on her ocean pillow,
It flew, like foam, o'er the ragged bar,
And shook where the waters quiver,
But steady and strong the keel stood far
Up the Asiatic river.