Samuel Kettell, ed. Specimens of American Poetry. 1829.
By Verses to the ShearwaterOn the Morning after a Storm at SeaRichard Alsop (17611815)
W
Com’st thou thus to greet mine eye,
Whilst the furious storm of night
Hovers yet around the sky?
Calmly cradled dost thou sleep,
When the midnight tempests rave,
Lonely wanderer of the deep?
Castled ’mid the roaring waste,
With the beams of morning’s star,
On lightning pinion dost thou haste?
Light thou skimm’st the ocean o’er,
Sporting round the breaker’s crest
Exulting in the tempest’s roar.
While our trembling bark is borne,
And joyful peers the lamp of day,
Lighting up the brow of morn;
Around a partial lustre shed,
And mark at fits with golden gleams
The mountain billow’s surging head;
At distance o’er the expanse so blue,
As domes and castles spiring bright,
Commingling, rise on fancy’s view—
Now near, and now at distance found,
Thy airy form, in ceaseless flight,
Cheers the lone dreariness around.
When the rushing billows rave;
And with fierce gigantic strides,
Death terrific walks the wave,
Thou pursuest thy sportive way;
Still uncheck’d by aught of fear,
Calmly seek’st thy finny prey.
What impels thee thus to roam?
What hast thou to mark the place
When thou seek’st thy distant home?
Thou thy faithful course dost keep;
Sportive still, still undismay’d,
Lonely wanderer of the deep!