I walk not by the sounding sea;
I dwell full many leagues from shore
And still an echo drifts to me
Of the eternal, constant roar
Of waves, that beetle past the crags
And moan in weary flights of song
Where wet sea moss and coral drags
The shiny lengths of sand along.
I see beyond the friendly vales,
And grand old hills that guard my home,
To where the seaward petrel sails
And storm winds of the Northland moan.
I live again in brighter days,
New-born from dreams of the dead past,
When she and I stood there to gaze
At sparkling hull, and spar, and mast
Of some staunch sea-craft bound amain
At will of wayward wind and fate,
Deep plunging in the waves to gain
Some northern isle, or rich estate
Of palm and pine in southward clime,
Where all day long the playful air
Pranks with the grizzled beard of time
And paints his hoary visage fair.
Within the dim, old forests here,
I wander now long leagues from shore,
And still the old song haunts my ear,
The century singing ocean's roar;
And now I know, fond soul of love;
Why still the murmurous echoes live,
And sound for aye the hills above
That back to earth the music give;
She, too, walked there in dreams with me,
In love's sweet unity we trod
The moon-bathed sands, and swore to be
Forever true before our God.
I see it still, her pale, calm face,
With angel love-light in her eyes,
And ever there, beside such grace,
A dim, sweet token of surprise.
Oh, tender touch of one soft hand!
I held it then in simple trust,
Alas, ye waves that lick the sand!
How long has that hand lain in dust?
I see her soul in yonder star,
I see the soft lines of her face,
And could God so unkindly mar
That angel beauty and its grace?
Roll, murmuring echoes of the sea!
Repeat thy sweet, immortal moan,
Drift ever inland unto me
Within my sunny Southern home;
And it shall be a tender dream--
Thy plaintive music thrilling me,
And her star face above--shall seem
Like other days beside the sea
When our lips touched eternally.