Rose and Roof-Tree | Page 7

long that we
Have lived upon the lonely sea?

Oh, often I thought we'd see the town,
When the sea went up, and the
sky came down.
O ye ho, boys! Spread her wings!
Fair winds, boys:
send her home!
O ye ho!
Even the winter winds would rouse
A memory of my father's house;

For round his windows and his door
They made the same deep,
mouthless roar.
O ye ho, boys! Spread her wings!
Fair winds, boys:
send her home!
O ye ho!
And when the summer's breezes beat,
Methought I saw the sunny
street
Where stood my Kate. Beneath her hand
She gazed far out,
far out from land.
O ye ho, boys! Spread her wings!
Fair winds,
boys: send her home!
O ye ho!
Farthest away, I oftenest dreamed
That I was with her. Then, it
seemed
A single stride the ocean wide
Had bridged, and brought
me to her side.
O ye ho, boys! Spread her wings!
Fair winds, boys:
send her home.
O ye ho!
But though so near we're drawing, now,
'T is farther off----I know not
how.
We sail and sail: we see no home.
Would we into the port
were come!
O ye ho, boys! Spread her wings!
Fair winds, boys:
send her home!
O ye ho!

At night, the same stars o'er the mast:
The mast sways
round--however fast
We fly--still sways and swings around
One
scanty circle's starry bound.
O ye ho, boys! Spread her wings!
Fair
winds, boys: send her home!
O ye ho!
Ah, many a month those stars have shone,
And many a golden morn
has flown,
Since that so solemn, happy morn,
When, I away, my
babe was born.
O ye ho, boys! Spread her wings!
Fair winds, boys:
send her home!
O ye ho!
And, though so near we're drawing, now,
'T is farther off--I know not
how--
I would not aught amiss had come
To babe or mother there,
at home!
O ye ho, boys! Spread her wings!
Fair winds, boys: send
her home!
O ye ho!
'T is but a seeming: swiftly rush
The seas, beneath. I hear the crush

Of foamy ridges 'gainst the prow.
Longing outspeeds the breeze, I
know.
O ye ho, boys! Spread her wings!
Fair winds, boys: send her
home!
O ye ho!
Patience, my mates! Though not this eve
We cast our anchor, yet
believe,
If but the wind holds, short the run:
We 'll sail in with
to-morrow's sun.
O ye ho, boys! Spread her wings!
Fair winds, boys:
send her home!
O ye ho!
JESSAMINE.
Here stands the great tree still, with broad, bent head,
And wide arms
grown aweary, yet outspread
With their old blessing. But wan
memory weaves
Strange garlands now amongst the darkening leaves.
And the moon hangs low in the elm.
Beneath these glimmering arches Jessamine
Walked with her lover
long ago, and in
This moon-made shade he questioned; and she spoke:


Then on them both love's rarer radiance broke.
And the moon hangs low in the elm.
Sweet Jessamine we called her; for she shone
Like blossoms that in
sun and shade have grown,
Gathering from each alike a perfect white,

Whose rich bloom breaks opaque through darkest night.
And the moon hangs low in the elm.
And for this sweetness Walt, her lover, sought
To win her; wooed her
here, his heart full-fraught
With fragrance of her being, and gained
his plea.
So "We will wed," they said, "beneath this tree."
And the moon hangs low in the elm.
Was it unfaith, or faith more full to her,
Made him, for fame and
fortune longing, spur
Into the world? Far from his home he sailed:

And life paused; while she watched joy vanish, vailed.
And the moon hangs low in the elm.
Oh, better at the elm tree's sun-browned feet
If he had been content to
let life fleet
Its wonted way!--there rearing his small house;

Mowing and milking, lord of corn and cows!
And the moon hangs low in the elm.
For as against a snarling sea one steers,
Ever he battled with the
beetling years;
And ever Jessamine must watch and pine,
Her
vision bounded by the bleak sea-line.
And the moon hangs low in the elm.
At last she heard no more. The neighbors said
That Walt had married,
faithless, or was dead.
Yet naught her trust could move; the tryst she
kept
Each night still, 'neath this tree, before she slept.

And the moon hangs low in the elm.
So, circling years went by; and in her face
Slow melancholy wrought
a tempered grace
Of early joy with sorrow's rich alloy--
Refinèd,
rare, no doom should e'er destroy.
And the moon hangs low in the elm.
Sometimes at twilight, when sweet Jessamine,
Slow-footed,
weary-eyed, passed by to win
The elm, we smiled for pity of her, and
mused
On love that so could live with love refused.
And the moon hangs low in the elm.
Nor none could hope for her. But she had grown
Too high in love for
hope, and bloomed alone,
Aloft in pure sincerity secure;
For
fortune's failures, in her faith too sure.
And the moon hangs low in the elm.
Oh, well for Walt, if he had known her soul!
Discouraged on
disaster's changeful shoal
Wrecking, he rested; starved on selfish
pride
Long years; nor would obey