They sit there in the shadow and shine

Of the flickering fire of the winter night; Figures in colour and design

Like those by Rembrandt of the Rhine,
Half darkness and half light.

And they talk of ventures lost or won,
And their talk is ever and ever the same,
While they drink the red wine of Tarragon,
From the cellars of some Spanish Don,
Or convent set on flame.

Restless at times, with heavy strides
He paces his parlour to and fro;
He is like a ship that at anchor rides,
And swings with the rising and falling tides,
And tugs at her anchor-tow.

Voices mysterious far and near,

Sound of the wind and sound of the sea,

Are calling and whispering in his ear,
"Simon Danz! Why stayest thou here?
Come forth and follow me!"

So he thinks he shall take to the sea again

For one more cruise with his buccaneers, To singe the beard of the King of Spain, And capture another Dean of Jaen, And sell him in Algiers.

H. W. LONGFELLOW.

Sea Memories

Often I think of the beautiful town
That is seated by the sea;
Often in thought go up and down
The pleasant streets of that dear old town,
And my youth comes back to me.
And a verse of a Lapland song
Is haunting my memory still:

"A boy's will is the wind's will,

And the thoughts of youth are long, long thoughts."

I can see the shadowy lines of its trees,
And catch, in sudden gleams,
The sheen of the far-surrounding seas,
And islands that were the Hesperidés 1
Of all my boyish dreams.

I

And the burden of that old song, It murmurs and whispers still: "A boy's will is the wind's will And the thoughts of youth are long, long thoughts."

I remember the black wharves and the slips,
And the sea-tides tossing free;

And the Spanish sailors with bearded lips,
And the beauty and mystery of the ships,
And the magic of the sea.

And the voice of that wayward song
Is singing and saying still:

"A boy's will is the wind's will,

And the thoughts of youth are long, long thoughts."

H. W. LONGFELLOW.

I

1 Hesperides: the fabulous "Isles of the Blest" in far western

seas.

The Sea Gypsy

I am fever'd with the sunset,
I am fretful with the bay,
For the wander-thirst is on me
And my soul is in Cathay.

There's a schooner in the offing,
With her topsails shot with fire,
And my heart has gone aboard her
For the Islands of Desire.

I must forth again to-morrow!
With the sunset I must be

Hull down on the trail of rapture

In the wonder of the Sea.

RICHARD HOVEY.

The Greenwich Pensioner

'Twas in the good ship Rover,

I sailed the world all round,
And for three years and over
I ne'er touched British ground;

At length in England landed,
I left the roaring main,
Found all relations stranded,

And went to sea again,

And went to sea again.

That time bound straight for Portugal,
Right fore and aft we bore,
But when we made Cape Ortegal,

A gale blew off the shore;
She lay, so did it shock her,
A log upon the main,

Till, saved from Davy's locker,

We put to sea again,

We put to sea again.

Next sailing in a frigate
I got my timber toe.
I never more shall jig it
As once I used to do;
My leg was shot off fairly,
All by a ship of Spain;
But I could swab the galley,
I went to sea again,
I went to sea again.