Читать книгу The Atlantic Monthly, Volume 11, No. 66, April, 1863 - Various - Страница 3

  Mist on the shore, and dark on the sand,

    The chilly gulls swept over my head,

  When a stately ship drew near the land,—

    Onward in silent grace she sped.

  Lonely, I threw but a coward's glance

    Upon the brave ship tall and free,

  Joyfully dancing her mystic dance,

    As if skies were blue and smooth the sea.

  I breathed the forgotten odors of Spain,

    Remembered my castles so far removed,

  For they brought the distant faith again

    That one who loves shall be beloved.

  Then the goodly galleon suddenly

    Dropped anchor close to the barren strand,

  And various cargoes, all for me,

    Laid on the bosom of my land.

  O friend! her cargoes were thy love,

    The stately ship thy presence fair;

  Her pointed sails, like wings above,

    Shall fill with praises and with prayer.