A SEA VIEW.

THRO' August heats I climb the hill

Swept by the east wind free;

And far below me, pale and still

As moonlight, lies the sea.

Northward, upon its farthest rim

The Isles of Shoals peer thro' the dim

And hazy sky that bathes around

The far horizon's utmost bound;

And, nearer, gleams old Newburyport's enchanted ground, -

White dots against a woody headland grim.

Westward, and seeming as it rode

On hollowing billows green,

Is Ipswich; many a quaint abode

Thro' bending trees half seen,

With jutting wall and roof's long sweep,

In shade-fleckt grasses ankle-deep -

Old bridge of stone and winding street

Are there : and ever fresh and sweet

The travell'd winds from sea returning stop to greet

With drowsy murmur of leaves its realms of sleep.

And, bending east, from many a hill,

O'er swarthy knolls and fields,

The sheer Cape angrily plunges till

To the broad sea it yields.

And all before me lies that sea,

Its fulness and its mystery,

The undream'd silence that enfolds

Whatever thoughts its bosom holds,

Whatever depths of feeling hide 'neath its blue wolds.

Its secret yet is unreveal'd to me.

Above my head the swallows skim,

Now wheeling, hovering near,

Now dipping to the sea's wide brim

Skyward to disappear.

The plover's distant call upsweep

With the soft whistle of the peep,

I hear, and thro' the calm air shrill

The curlew of the sickle bill;

The kingbird and the woodpecker together thrill

Harsh notes by distance blent to music deep.

O sea, how dear a friend thou art!

For, lying here, the pain

That eats like poison thro' the heart

Seems almost joy again!

Like echoes from the days of yore

I hear the surge break on the shore,

Shower'd diamond in the sun, with sound

That wraps my musing brain around

In some sweet robe of blessing hitherto unfound, -

A kindlier rest than ever known before.

And if I might for ever wait

In dreams of peace by thee,

I should be blest beyond all fate

To gainsay it, O sea!

And calm as yonder passing sail

That dips below the sightless pale

Of thy gray waters, life would pass

To broader levels, that the glass

Of thought could never bound to longing soul. . . Alas!

That life's dear dream's fulfilment so should fail!