[A RED SUNRISE.]
The naked Bay its silver notes is telling
Sweeter than flute or harp or singing bird,
Beatings of rosy rhythm in winsome word
Of lilting song are softly shoreward welling:
Anear and far the ruddy waters swelling,
In laughter-peals around the fair earth heard,
Thrill swift the home-bound keels so long unstirred—
The kiss of day the weary wings compelling.
Beware the elfin bugles sounding clear
As glows morn's pallid ash to crimson flame
And makes a bloody dazzle of the waves!
Ere burn the embers in the west all blear,
The deep shall thunder its awful chant of fame
O'er noble hearts gone down to wandering graves.
[THE OPAL FIRES ARE GONE.]
The opal fires are gone, and but a stain
Of day yet lingers as the sudden night
With swift cloud blots the crouching hills from sight,
And the far sea moans deep in ominous pain.
Ah me, it is the swart-winged hurricane!
The furious tide in elemental fight
Is lashing fierce and hoar with giant might,—
The bleeding shores the tale shall tell the main!
Brave sailor, reeling in thy storm-drunk bark,
Blinded by sheeted rain blown tempest-wild,
And vexed with roaring darkness round about!
The heaven-sent vision fair of wife and child
Calm seated at love's hearth, with face ahark,
Makes thee divine amid the awful rout.