THOUGHTS AT SEA.
��ENGLAND, mother-land, how oft my heart In its lone musings hath gone forth to thee, Or found the beauty of its brightest dreams Glow in thy smile. For thou didst tell me tales Of thine old kings, and of the steel-clad knights Who battled for the truth, till I desir'd
To look upon the scenes that history made, Sacred and hoary, as the simple child, Going to rest, longs for its mother's kiss.
Therefore have I come forth upon the wave ; I, whose most dear and unambitious joy Was 'neath the low porch of my vine-clad home, To twine, at early morn, such tender shoots As the cool night put forth, or grateful hear The merry voices of my little ones, Lifting the blossoms from their turfy bed,
1 have come strangely forth upon the breast Of boisterous ocean, shrinking as his voice Swells out in sudden wrath, or on the mast, Watching the lessening sailor's perilous way,
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