Its mystery, aye, and its music
Have followed me all the way,
And borne—as they are—by the foaming wave,
They blend in an unsung lay.
And all day long do I listen,
And all day long do I look
To freedom which never was nation’s,
To songs that were never in book.
TO AN UNKNOWN MUSICIAN
(Verses written while listening to a melody played on board the “Princess Charlotte,” sailing through the strait of Juan de Fuca)
What is nature’s charms and grandeur,
When compared to what man is,
In his sorrows and his longings,
In his triumphs and his bliss!
Oh, a soul that hath such feelings,
As the one who now doth play,
Such a depth of true emotions,
Lives in God’s eternal day!
Thou unconsciously hast moved me,
I’m a captive at thy will,
Though in thousand leagues of journey
Oft my soul has had its fill
Of the beauty of creation,
Known its raptures and delight,
Yet not once such inspiration
Has possessed me as tonight.
Play, play on thou sweet musician,
While the darkness gathers round,
While our ship is speeding onward
With a rhythmic, rushing sound,
While the stars look down upon us,
Mirrored in the tranquil sea,
Render thy interpretation
Of life’s joy and misery.
SEATTLE
(A meditation)
Thou princess of the sea, how thou hast grown,
Since last I saw thee, and how beautiful!
The ocean-breezes must to thee have blown
The ardent health which nothing wrong could dull,
The blood of races mingle in thy veins,
The spirit of two worlds have met in thee,
Most genial and free thou here dost reign,
A charming princess of the western sea.
It was with thee I did a year abide,
A year so antithetically mixed,
When painful doubts forbade me to confide,
And life’s career, confessed, still was unfixed;
May be it was thy spirit, which I felt,
That gave me song and Oriental dreams,
And when in Occidental shrines I knelt,
Of Oriental truth there came bright gleams.