The Complete Poetical Works of Henry Wadsworth Longfellow. Генри Уодсуорт Лонгфелло

of silk and ropes of sandal,

       Such as gleam in ancient lore;

      And the singing of the sailors,

       And the answer from the shore!

      Most of all, the Spanish ballad

       Haunts me oft, and tarries long,

      Of the noble Count Arnaldos

       And the sailor's mystic song.

      Like the long waves on a sea-beach,

       Where the sand as silver shines,

      With a soft, monotonous cadence,

       Flow its unrhymed lyric lines:—

      Telling how the Count Arnaldos,

       With his hawk upon his hand,

      Saw a fair and stately galley,

       Steering onward to the land;—

      How he heard the ancient helmsman

       Chant a song so wild and clear,

      That the sailing sea-bird slowly

       Poised upon the mast to hear,

      Till his soul was full of longing,

       And he cried, with impulse strong—

      "Helmsman! for the love of heaven,

       Teach me, too, that wondrous song!"

      "Wouldst thou,"—so the helmsman answered,

       "Learn the secret of the sea?

      Only those who brave its dangers

       Comprehend its mystery!"

      In each sail that skims the horizon,

       In each landward-blowing breeze,

      I behold that stately galley,

       Hear those mournful melodies;

      Till my soul is full of longing

       For the secret of the sea,

      And the heart of the great ocean

       Sends a thrilling pulse through me.

TWILIGHT

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      The twilight is sad and cloudy,

       The wind blows wild and free,

      And like the wings of sea-birds

       Flash the white caps of the sea.

      But in the fisherman's cottage

       There shines a ruddier light,

      And a little face at the window

       Peers out into the night.

      Close, close it is pressed to the window,

       As if those childish eyes

      Were looking into the darkness,

       To see some form arise.

      And a woman's waving shadow

       Is passing to and fro,

      Now rising to the ceiling,

       Now bowing and bending low.

      What tale do the roaring ocean,

       And the night-wind, bleak and wild,

      As they beat at the crazy casement,

       Tell to that little child?

      And why do the roaring ocean,

       And the night-wind, wild and bleak,

      As they beat at the heart of the mother,

       Drive the color from her cheek?

SIR HUMPHREY GILBERT

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      Southward with fleet of ice

       Sailed the corsair Death;

      Wild and fast blew the blast,

       And the east-wind was his breath.

      His lordly ships of ice

       Glisten in the sun;

      On each side, like pennons wide,

       Flashing crystal streamlets run.

      His sails of white sea-mist

       Dripped with silver rain;

      But where he passed there were cast

       Leaden shadows o'er the main.

      Eastward from Campobello

       Sir Humphrey Gilbert sailed;

      Three days or more seaward he bore,

       Then, alas! the land-wind failed.

      Alas! the land-wind failed,

       And ice-cold grew the night;

      And nevermore, on sea or shore,

       Should Sir Humphrey see the light.

      He sat upon the deck,

       The Book was in his hand

      "Do not fear! Heaven is as near,"

       He said, "by water as by land!"

      In the first watch of the night,

       Without a signal's sound,

      Out of the sea, mysteriously,

       The fleet of Death rose all around.

      The moon and the evening star

       Were hanging in the shrouds;

      Every mast, as it passed,

       Seemed to rake the passing clouds.

      They grappled with their prize,

       At midnight black and cold!

      As of a rock was the shock;

       Heavily the ground-swell rolled.

      Southward through day and dark,

       They drift in close embrace,

      With mist and rain, o'er the open main;

       Yet there seems no change of place.

      Southward, forever southward,

       They drift through dark and day;

      And like a dream, in the Gulf-Stream

       Sinking, vanish all away.

THE LIGHTHOUSE

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      The rocky ledge runs far into the sea,

       And on its outer point, some miles away,

      The Lighthouse lifts its massive masonry,

       A pillar of fire by night, of cloud by day.

      Even at this distance I can see the tides,

       Upheaving, break unheard along its base,

      A speechless wrath, that rises and subsides

       In the white lip and tremor of the face.

      And as the evening darkens, lo! how bright,

       Through the deep purple of the twilight air,

      Beams forth the sudden radiance of its light