Pictures

Hung in the parlors of the town

Are many pictures of tall ships,

White-billowy to their pennon-tips,

And painted black or shining brown.

And, seeing them, the wild thought slips

Back to those wild and white sea-trips

When Round Pond shared the sea's renown;

And all her captains sailed a fleet,

Long-keeled and deep, around the Horn,

Where Del Fuego lies forlorn

In cloudy rack or scudding sleet.

On other seas of Capricorn

Old voyagers knew their house-flags, borne

Where Indian and Pacific meet.

Strong oils and wool from Boston bar,

Bright silks from busy blue Hong Kong-

And many a little mellow gong

On the shore wind, cleared for Samar

And all the isles of Orient song.

Oh, how the wind-clipt sails would throng!

Great ships-who knows now where they are?

The captains leave their white-walled homes

Built out of earnings from far lands,

But not to take their old commands

Into the wind where water foams!

The captains leave; to helmless hands

Are fallen their houses on these sands;

Their old wives wither in the rooms.

Their children pause, with vision spent-

Dear folk! they dabble, and put away

The majesties of yesterday.

No vital pulse, no strong event,

Sweeps in to break their life's delay ;

The steam-boat lands, leaves them each day

Contented with their discontent.

Where is the blood that loved the sea!

Though old sea-commerce be no more,

Shall children of the sea on shore

Sink dull with careless industry?

Those painted ships bold purpose bore,

And what great glorious sails they wore-

Pictures that shame posterity!