Page:Pieces People Ask For.djvu/150

Quivering on tiptoe there,
I spy at the world without,
And wearily scan that blue sea-bay,
Where the white sails glide about.
I gaze, till my hot eyes ache
With the changeful, flashing light:
That billowy blue, so terribly blue;
That white, so intensely white!
And I step from my trembling hold
Down on the loathsome floor;
Then bruised, half-blinded, and sick,
I climb, and gaze once more.

Out of this fearful dun-light,—
Darkness "made visible,"—
I gaze on the summer sunlight
Which never visits my cell,—
Out on yon summer-glory
Flooding the golden sand;
And I sigh for the distant freedom:
I weep for my far-off land!

So I cling to the bars, and wonder
If my lot will ever be
To float in that skifflet yonder,
Home o'er that tempting sea.

Oh! I loathe the foreign banner,
With its fluttering, flaunting brag;
And my soul is sad and weary,
Heart-sick for the dear old flag!
Oh! could I loose from her moorings,
Could I reach yon tiny boat,
With what glad, wild heart-boundings,
Away, away I'd float!

But the sunbeams lie still and burning,
On ocean and on land,
While scarce by one breezy flutter
Is my burning forehead fanned.