ALL night long, in the outer bay,
The ships have rocked with the lazy sea,
Off and on, with a slow chasseé,
And all night long, on top of the mist,
The stars have danced unceasingly,
And the moon has smiled her prettiest;
Yet not one ray has wandered by:
Oh! when shall we have a brighter sky!
The wind is light and the light is dim,
But a single star worn pale and slim,
As though the journey had wearied him,
Has just come down from Heaven, to say
That the Sun is coming up this way,
With promise of a gala-day.
Great wonder had been, up there, he says,
That Boston lay so long in a haze;
And strange they hadn't invented a way,
Some patent or other, to blow it away;
No'th-East by East had gone ashore
Below, some twenty leagues or more;
He had weathered the Cape about midnight,
And was taking a nap, to come up bright;
An hour, or two at the most, and he
Would bring the bloom of the orange-tree,
And swear it was just from Florida,
Caught last night at the fall of the dew;
He left as the stars came out of the blue,
And shunning the breath of the land, by sea
Has kept all fresh it fragrancy.
Thus spake, or looked the star, and soon
The air is soft as a breeze in June;
The sun comes down by way of the moon,
And all the sister stars and brothers,
And other lights, if there _are_ others,
Mars, and his Tiger,[C] _all_ are out;
And right glad they look, as about to shout,
At sight again, their right good will
On Boston heights and Bunker Hill:
And Bunker Hill's great Orator,'[D]
Catching a ray from every star,
Binds him a chaplet of Thirteen,
And silent, smiles upon the scene.
The mists have gone off silently,
And scarcely whispered their good-bye;
They have crept away with a stealthy roll,
Like the gathering of a noiseless scroll;
You may see them yet, as they glide away,
And hang their curtains about the bay;
While the pointed seas flash out between,
Like the spears of a host, in battle seen;
Or lift their white caps, one by one,
A welcome to the rising sun:
A moment's hush, on sea and air,
Still, as an angel passing were,
To bid them breathe a silent prayer,
And then, all free and gloriously
The Sun comes mounting from the sea,
As lightning had sprang sudden there,
And lingered in the atmosphere!
Again the languid pulses start
Like a rush of joy to a weary heart,
That hardly hath left a hope for such,
So mild its quick but gentle touch:
And now it clasps in warm embrace
All living things, and face to face
And lip to lip, shall cling all day,
Still giving life, unceasingly.
Beneath the clear unclouded sky
All quiet and still the islands lie,
Like monsters of the deep, couchant;
And farther out is cool Nahant,
A finger pointing the sea aslant;
The light-house top, and Nix's Mate,
And tall ships moving by in state,
With top-sails and top-gallants bent
To catch each wandering breeze that's sent;
Some, just come in from Labrador,
Sweep by with the nod of an emperor;
And some are there, have dipped their spars
In waters that flash back of stars
A sky-full from each wave that swells
Its mounting crest in the Dardanelles;
Some, that have iced them at Cape Horn;
And some dash in, with topsails torn
In some such trifling matter as
A rough-and-tumble at Hatteras;
And some, still warm from southern seas
And cotton bags, hail out, 'Balize;'
A long procession, dashing on,
Like the march of men to a clarion.
They may do these things in Italy
In a different way; but enough for me
The off-hand manner, the tone, the style,
The 'keeping' of all, and the glorious smile
Of earth and air, and sky and sea,
So gayly decked and brilliantly;
Why, Heaven has left a door ajar
This side the world, to show how fair
May be a land, and sky, and air,
Where bold and free are 'heart and hand'--
And such is this, our glorious land!
Beside, your Greece and Rome, and all
Who hold themselves so beautiful,
Have no such charming mists as these,
No climate changing with each breeze;
And nothing to compare, in the least,
With a Boston storm, NO'TH-EAST BY EAST.
[C] A small star near Mars.
[D] The monument: vide WEBSTER.