The wet sand, how it glistened on the sunny summer day!
And how the waves would chase us back, as if they were in play!
And when, on the horizon blue, a sail we would espy,
How "Ship ahoy!" or "Whither bound?" we all of us would cry!
The white, white sand, so smooth and hard, oh what a place for fun!
With no one by to check our screams, or say, "Now, pray, have done!"
The sea-birds, not at all disturbed by all our mirthful noise,
Would cry to us, as if they said, "Shout on, shout on, my boys!"
Sometimes we'd seek for flattened stones, and skim them o'er the waves;
Then go where, in the piled-up rocks, the sea had hollowed caves;
Or sit and feel the cooling breeze in silent happiness;
Or hunt for seaweed in the clefts, and take it home to press.
And well do I remember there a little shallow creek,
Where we would go and sail our ships, at least three times a week:
We loaded them with cargoes rich, and sent them all to Spain;
And back they came with heavy freights, by which we made much gain.
Oh! pleasant pastimes on the beach, how often I recall
The ocean grand, the distant sails, the rocks, the lighthouse tall!
They do not fade, these pictures bright, from memory's inner view;
And age itself shall never dim their colors ever new.
Emily Carter.
