Oft listening how the hounds and horn Cheerly rouse the slumbering Morn, From

the side of some hoar hill, Through the high wood echoing shrill; Sometime

walking, not unseen, By hedge-row elms, on hillocks green, Right against the

eastern gate, Where the great Sun begins his state, Robed in flames and amber

light, The clouds in thousand liveries dight, While the plowman near at hand

Whistles o'er the furrowed land, And the milkmaid singing blithe, And the mower

whets his scythe, And every shepherd tells his tale, Under the hawthorn in the

dale.

 

_THE SEA_

 

The sea, the sea, the open sea, The blue, the fresh, the fever free; Without a

mark, without a bound, It runneth the earth's wide regions round; It plays with

the clouds, it mocks the skies, Or like a cradled creature lies. I'm on the sea,

I'm on the sea, I am where I would ever be, With the blue above and the blue

below, And silence wheresoe'er I go. If a storm should come and awake the deep,

What matter? I shall ride and sleep.

 

I love, oh! how I love to ride On the fierce, foaming, bursting tide, Where

every mad wave drowns the moon, And whistles aloft its tempest tune, And tells

how goeth the world below, And why the southwest wind doth blow! I never was on

the dull, tame shore But I loved the great sea more and more, And backward flew

to her billowy breast, Like a bird that seeketh her mother's nest,-- And a

mother she was and is to me, For I was born on the open sea.