SEA AND BAY 
 
 \ CHARLES WHARTON STORK 
 
Class lE^JXiilL 
 
 Copyright}!^. 
 
 o 
 
 COPYRIGHT DEPOSm 
 
SEA AND BAY 
 
SEA AND BAY 
 
 A POEM OF NEW ENGLAND 
 
 BY 
 
 CHARLES WHARTON STORK 
 
 author of 
 "day dreams of Greece" 
 
 AND 
 "IHE QXJEEN OF ORPLEDE" 
 
 NEW YORK 
 JOHN LANE COMPANY 
 
 MCMXVI 
 

 Copyright, 1916, 
 By John Lane Company 
 
 J. J. Little & Ives Company 
 New York. U- S. A. 
 
 APR 13 1916 
 
 )GI.A427670 
 
TO 
 
 PAUL DOUGHERTY 
 
 PAINTER OF THE SEA 
 
Contents 
 
 PAGE 
 
 Part I. Bay ii 
 
 Part II. Sea 63 
 
 Part III. Bay and Sea 125 
 
PART I 
 BAY 
 
Bay Song 
 
 Trustful, dimpling, blue-eyed bay, 
 Glad at rest and glad at play, 
 Like a babe beneath the eye 
 Of thy virgin-mother sky. 
 Whose bright ecstasy of love 
 Makes thee smile to her above, 
 Scarce a shadow horn of earth 
 Dims thy soul of heavenly birth. 
 
 Little winds thy curls caress. 
 And sometimes for wantonness 
 Thou dost lightly pout and frown. 
 Tossing fretful up and down. 
 Till it might seem thy tender form 
 Felt forebodings of the storm. 
 But soon thy fears are put to rout 
 And winsome laughter dances out. 
 
 Careless we beside thee born 
 Share the sparkle of the morn. 
 II 
 
SEA AND BAY 
 
 Soon away to regions far 
 We must follow each his star. 
 Yet, the day of tempest done, 
 Sailing back at set of sun, 
 We may hope once more to he 
 Happy, trustful, calm, like thee. 
 
 My father died before I recollect. 
 The thing I first recall was how at dawn 
 The pigeons would be cooing in the eaves; 
 So that, when Mother told me solemnly 
 Of Father's death and how he had gone 
 
 away 
 Up high, I thought of where the pigeons 
 
 cooed 
 And fluttered — that was my idea of 
 
 heaven. 
 Our family name was Carr, well thought 
 
 of there; 
 Our house was in a pine grove near the 
 
 shore. 
 Some distance up the bay above the town, 
 Plain as a box, but cosy and neat within, — 
 
 12 
 
BAY 
 
 All but the parlor, chill with musty gloom, 
 Where gay stuffed birds and foreign shells 
 
 kept state. 
 Three children we were in all; my sister 
 
 Jane, 
 Alden (that's my name), and my brother 
 
 Phil, 
 Born after Father's death as I know now. 
 Mother did well by us, as the saying is, 
 Though more by stress of conscience than 
 
 of love; 
 Managed the old farm, never let us want. 
 And taught us all at home till school-time 
 
 came. 
 
 How clearly the scene stands out: the 
 
 whitewashed walls 
 With map and blackboard, cut by windows 
 
 high 
 And staring; in the midst the teacher's 
 
 face. 
 Kind but remote because of spectacles. 
 Little she was — though very large to 
 
 me — 
 
 13 
 
SEA AND BAY 
 
 Her voice high-pitched and chirping Hke 
 
 a bird's; 
 Her small bright eyes were bird-like too. 
 
 She spoke 
 With Mother first, then turned to me and 
 
 said, 
 "I hope you'll like it here." I hoped so 
 
 too. 
 Next I turned round to look at all the 
 
 rest — 
 Some watching me, some busy at their 
 
 slates. 
 Some whispering. Sister Jane was one 
 
 of them, 
 I couldn't tell just where in such a crowd. 
 But soon the teacher led me to my seat 
 And gave me a slate with easy sums to 
 
 do.— 
 Few days come back like one's first day at 
 
 school ! 
 
 Lessons went smoothly, but the other 
 boys 
 Were rough and teased me; if Jane took 
 my part 
 
 14 
 
BAY 
 
 It only made things worse, until I learned 
 That boys — like men — must fight their 
 
 way alone. 
 I made no friends ; as soon as school was 
 
 done 
 I used to trudge off gravely by myself 
 To lord it in the kingdom of my choice; 
 A pebbly beach, walled in on every side 
 By scarred gray chffs that shut the world 
 
 of school 
 And farm completely out, yet left me free 
 To share the gladness of the romping 
 
 waves, 
 And steep my being in the soft warm air. 
 Such happiness there was mine, I truly 
 
 think. 
 As few if any of my schoolmates found 
 In livelier, noisier games. When I be- 
 gan 
 To read I somehow took to naval fights. 
 Which filled my mind and colored all my 
 
 play 
 With patriotic zeal. From that time 
 
 forth 
 
 15 
 
SEA AND BAY 
 
 I dreamed a world of men outside my 
 
 own. 
 Instead of merely throwing stones I now 
 Repelled invasions of the British fleet, 
 Sinking glass-bottle frigates by the 
 
 score, — 
 The bay was sea for me in miniature. 
 
 You may imagine that the cares of life 
 Broke in upon me often: chores to do. 
 Letters to carry, cows and pigs to feed. 
 So that for days I hardly saw my beach. 
 Yet all that lives in me of those early 
 
 years 
 Is Mother's face, Jane's calm approving 
 
 smile. 
 And the remembrance of my beach: the 
 
 cliffs. 
 The wild sweet-peas, the round wet peb- 
 bles even. 
 Surely my life between, however marred. 
 Was better for those memories of the 
 
 beach. 
 The bay, so silken smooth, so mildly 
 bright 
 
 i6 
 
BAY 
 
 It seemed the very mirror of repose, 
 Lent me tranquillity, the pure white clouds 
 Touched the divine in me with high de- 
 sire. 
 The flowers and pebbles pleased my home- 
 lier moods, 
 And taught a childlike love of little things. 
 In some such way I grew till I was twelve. 
 
 On my next birthday, as the weather 
 was fair. 
 The month July, my Uncle Alden came 
 To take me for a picnic to the sea. 
 I was his favorite, being named for him, 
 And had the benefit of his kindest 
 
 thoughts 
 And longest yarns ; for he was a travelled 
 
 man, 
 A merchant captain in his time, and now, 
 Though long retired, he held in high con- 
 tempt 
 The manners of his neighbors by the bay. 
 That morning he wheeled up before the 
 door, 
 
 17 
 
SEA AND BAY 
 
 Cried "All aboard!" gave me a steady 
 
 hand, 
 And helped me to a seat. Who then so 
 
 proud 
 As I to hold the reins and flick the 
 
 whip? 
 While we were spinning down the sandy 
 
 road, 
 He spoke as one inspired: "And so, young 
 
 chap. 
 You've never seen the ocean. Well, that 
 
 beats 
 The very blazes! Lived to twelve year 
 
 old 
 Within RvG miles. Call that a life, do ye 
 
 then? 
 Seen it between the capes, ye say? No 
 
 doubt. 
 Looking at heaven through a window- 
 chink ! 
 I wonder what ye'll make of it to-day 
 With the warm sunlight striking on the 
 
 rocks 
 And a sou'wester beating up the surf." 
 i8 
 
BAY 
 
 We climbed a burly headland, coming 
 
 out 
 By a lighthouse, and I looked; but what 
 
 I saw 
 I had no words to tell, nor have I now. 
 For when those Atlas arms of swimming 
 
 blue 
 Reached out as if to bring heaven down 
 
 to me, 
 I knew myself akin to that wide scene 
 By the great throb with which I leaped to 
 
 it there 
 And caught it to my spirit. What I felt 
 I can but hint by some vague reference 
 To other feelings known in later life. 
 I've met with lovely women, two or three, 
 Who open vistas to the wondering soul 
 Of spirit realms unguessed, with whom it 
 
 seems 
 That earth and heaven have no fast-set 
 
 bound. 
 But flow together as imperceptibly 
 As blue to blue on the horizon's verge, 
 Where ships float up to meet the bending 
 sky. 
 
 19 
 
SEA AND BAY 
 
 It wasn't long before I had earned a 
 boat 
 
 By extra work In the hayfields. I could 
 now 
 
 Fish and explore the bay to heart's con- 
 tent. 
 
 I might have taken Phil along, but he 
 
 Would rather learn to do things on the 
 farm 
 
 Than wait for bites or play at make-be- 
 lieve. 
 
 For me, though, fishing was romance, a 
 world 
 
 Half apprehended in those magic depths 
 
 As in enchanted woods. No water-sprite, 
 
 Undine or Triton could have seemed 
 more strange 
 
 Than those wild beings that bit and 
 tugged and splashed 
 
 Until they were safely landed in the 
 boat, — 
 
 Only the frying-pan could prove them 
 fish. 
 
 I leaned above the line, Intent as one 
 20 
 
BAY 
 
 Who takes a message from another world 
 Sent In a code of pulls. I could but guess 
 Their meaning: one said "Walt!" another 
 
 "Jerk!" 
 Some of the fish were clever, some were 
 
 dull, 
 Each had his character: the bluefish fierce 
 Pulling from side to side with frantic 
 
 strength ; 
 The cunning flounder swimming with the 
 
 line. 
 Till at the boat's side standing on his tail 
 He threw the hook and vanished, white 
 
 side up. 
 Many were beautiful: the round scup- 
 
 paug. 
 Their sides aglint with iridescent hues, 
 Which shone like big new dollars in the 
 
 rays 
 Of sunset, when they always bite the best ; 
 The blackfish stout, of blunt aggressive 
 
 build. 
 Black, grey or yellow with stripes. — ^You 
 
 wonder why 
 So many artists love to paint dead fish. 
 
 21 
 
SEA AND BAY 
 
 But painted fish don't smell, and kindly 
 
 note 
 The firm rich color and the subtle sheen 
 On every scale ! — Well, well, I've skipped 
 
 a bit 
 From those young days of fishing to a 
 
 time 
 When I saw famous pictures, but you see 
 The threads of life get tangled now and 
 
 then. 
 
 But whether I fished or drifted with 
 
 the tide 
 I was at one with Nature. Oft at noon 
 Of some bright, listless day I let my gaze 
 Dream down into the depths of emerald 
 Beneath, or with a slanting look beheld 
 The waveless wide expanse, till soul and 
 
 sense 
 Would blend Into the mid-day light which 
 
 dwelt 
 Caressingly on all. Thus not so much 
 Did Nature's beauty come to me, as I 
 Went out to Nature. 
 
 22 
 
BAY 
 
 I was taught of God 
 In a cold, gloomy building, but His love — 
 What I could learn of it — was revealed 
 
 to me 
 In the warm air beneath the tender sky; 
 Things I had heard in church would then 
 
 '-evive, 
 As Nature gave them breath and life and 
 
 truth. 
 I liked to hear that Jesus taught men so 
 Beside the lake or on the mountain side 
 In haunts of daily life where flowers and 
 
 trees 
 Offered themselves for parables, in fields 
 Or by the village well. How easily then 
 In dull folk's hearts might spring the 
 
 seed of faith 
 Or flow the living water! 
 
 Kindlier thoughts 
 Drew me at length to leave my hermit 
 
 ways 
 And mingle with my fellows. First of all 
 A girl named Hilda won my bashful trust 
 By a bold act of sympathy. The boys, 
 23 
 
SEA AND BAY 
 
 For reasons known to them, had picked 
 
 me out 
 To be their target in a snowball game. 
 One well-directed volley knocked me down 
 With bleeding nose and lips. The marks- 
 men brave, 
 Scared when they found I lay there partly 
 
 stunned. 
 Were standing sheepishly aloof. Just 
 
 then 
 Hilda came up and saw us. Like a flash 
 She ran between, and turning on the boys : 
 "You great big cowards, all of you on 
 
 oner 
 Shamed even the roughest. Wiping off 
 
 the blood 
 With that incipient mother-gentleness 
 Which girls fall heir to in their early 
 
 teens, 
 She sent the leader of the bullying crew 
 For water, — this I heard as though from 
 
 far. 
 A moistened handkerchief on brow and 
 
 cheek 
 Revived me, Hilda helped me to sit up, 
 24 
 
BAY 
 
 And making sure no serious harm was 
 
 done, 
 Soon got me to my feet and so to school. 
 Few women leave a generous deed half 
 
 done, 
 And Hilda was a woman from the first. 
 Finding I was an outlaw from the rest. 
 She tried to learn the cause, asked of my 
 
 life 
 And told me of her own. How joyfully 
 My heart, so long unsunned by fellow- 
 ship, 
 Melted, to tears at first, and then to speech 
 Of all my lonely fancies, lofty hopes 
 And boy ambitions ! 
 
 From that winter morn 
 Hilda and I were friends. I took her 
 
 down 
 To see my beach and told her wondrous 
 
 tales 
 Of wild adventures ; — not that she took in 
 Half my odd notions, but she looked at 
 
 me 
 With such grave interest that I rambled 
 
 on 
 
 25 
 
SEA AND BAY 
 
 Complacently enough. In course of time 
 Her quiet Influence wrought upon me so 
 That I no longer found myself shut out 
 From common schoolboy games. I took 
 
 my place 
 On ball-team, coasting party, husking 
 
 bee, — 
 Whatever sport the season might suggest. 
 I still was laughed at, but my ofiish ways 
 Received more tolerance. Therc^ were 
 
 rumors, too, 
 That I was "something extra" at my 
 
 books. 
 Mother tried hard to fix me to the farm, 
 Showed how to run It, scolded, begged 
 
 and cried. 
 Or strove to rouse a rivalry with Phil, 
 Already my superior; nothing worked. 
 I did as I was told, went bhndly on 
 Till I could hardly stagger, but no spark 
 Of love for what I did Inspired my toil. 
 The fields were clods, the cattle stupid 
 
 beasts; 
 They roused my Imagination to no life 
 26 
 
BAY 
 
 As they did Phil's. But set me at my 
 
 books, — 
 My history, Latin, mathematics even — 
 And straight my mind awoke. The very 
 
 figures 
 Were things I loved to wrestle with ; they 
 
 seemed 
 Somehow more real than pigs or ricks of 
 
 hay. 
 If Mother argued, I could never explain 
 Why I should feel so. Uncle Alden 
 
 laughed 
 When Mother told him. "I was right, 
 
 you'll see," 
 He used to say. Once the head master 
 
 called. 
 To talk of me, I knew. The upshot was 
 That I was given two more years of 
 
 school 
 Beyond what most had; Uncle paid for it. 
 Then I was happy, did my farming chores 
 With zeal to earn my schooling honestly. 
 And showed a cheerful visage to the 
 
 world. 
 
 27 
 
SEA AND BAY 
 
 The world accordingly smiled back at me 
 And life went smoothly. 
 
 Somewhere near fifteen 
 The romance of my beach began to 
 
 fade, 
 My reading changed from fights to poetry 
 And sentimental tales, my peace of mind 
 Gave way to restless languor. It was 
 
 long 
 Before I learned the cause, though In the 
 
 end 
 It struck me like a blow. One night that 
 
 year 
 I went with Hilda, as the custom was. 
 To a birthday party at a village house. 
 There, after hide-and-seek and blind- 
 man's-buff. 
 They called for Copenhagen (klss-in-the- 
 
 ring) . 
 The game being new to me, I joined the 
 
 rest 
 And watched, but when one struggling girl 
 
 was kissed. 
 Then others, many of them nothing loath, 
 A cruel wormwood feeling of disgust 
 28 
 
BAY 
 
 Rose in my throat, a disillusionment 
 That now may well seem comic: This 
 
 was love, 
 The knightly passion for a peerless maid 
 Of which the novels told ! I thanked my 
 
 stars 
 That Hilda had escaped the general 
 
 fate. 
 One bold-cheeked hoyden caught me with 
 
 the ring 
 And stood an instant, but I stared and 
 
 blushed 
 Till with a mocking laugh she slipped 
 
 away. 
 And yet while walking home I felt again 
 That I had played the fool and missed my 
 
 chance. 
 Later, on moonlight picnics when I found 
 A couple kissing, I would steal away 
 With lonely hard sensations in my heart, 
 Because their happiness was not for me. 
 There was a song we often used to sing 
 On straw-rides or around a driftwood 
 
 fire 
 That used to vex me. This is how it went : 
 29 
 
SEA AND BAY 
 
 The Husking Bee 
 
 Ridin* home from the huskin' bee 
 
 ^Neath the full moon's tender light, 
 My sweetheart Sally was a-settin' by me 
 
 An' her eyes they was big and bright. 
 Then I thought to myself: Vd like to know 
 
 If my arm stole around her waist, 
 Whether she'd cuddle close an' look up so, 
 
 An' her lips I then would taste. 
 
 Chorus 
 We was jog gin' along, jog gin' along, 
 
 Jog gin' along by the moon's pale light; 
 Joggin' along, singin' a song, 
 
 Comin' home from the huskin' bee. 
 
 Pretty soon my hand it crept around, 
 
 An' Sally looked up so shy. 
 An' two pair o' lips each other found, — 
 
 Oh, zvhat a happy man was I! 
 Then I says to her, ^'Sal, I felt so scared 
 
 That you'd scream, or say me nay." 
 But she answered, '7 %vas waitin' to see if 
 you dared. 
 
 For a girl must be won that way." 
 30 
 
BAY 
 
 Chorus 
 
 We was jog gin' along, jog gin' along, 
 Joggin along by the moon's soft light; 
 
 While our two hearts sang love's own 
 song, 
 Comin' home from the huskin' bee. 
 
 Now if you should be placed as I was then, 
 
 Just listen to my advice, 
 The girls they take to the forward men 
 
 If they only act polite an' nice. 
 Perhaps you will think that the maid is 
 coy 
 
 An' be afraid to begin. 
 While she's just a-thinkin' : This noodle- 
 head boy 
 
 Hain't got enough spunk to win. 
 
 Chorus 
 So when you're — 
 
 Joggin' along, joggin' along, 
 
 Joggin' along by the moon's soft light, 
 Joggin' along, remember my song 
 
 As you coine from the huskin' bee. 
 31 
 
SEA AND BAY 
 
 I couldn't ever be a ^'forward man'' 
 Or boy, despite the moral of the piece. 
 I followed Hilda with a spaniel love 
 Month after month, but when at last I 
 
 tried 
 One mild May night to do as in the song. 
 She just said, "Alden Carr, behave your- 
 self!" 
 And Alden Carr behaved. 
 
 Thus far in life 
 I'd met with no one from the outside 
 
 world. 
 But this year in the summer holidays 
 A painter came to board with us. Just 
 
 how 
 He knew the bay, and why he chose our 
 
 house 
 I don't remember, but he picked me out 
 To carry his things for him. When 
 
 Mother fumed 
 Because I left my farming, my new friend 
 Insisted, giving reason for his whim 
 And paying me a grown man's wage be- 
 sides. 
 *'I can't paint pictures when a stupid boor 
 32 
 
BAY 
 
 Is glowering at me/' he would often say. 
 *'I must have some one there with eyes 
 
 in his head 
 To tell me if my work looks right. A boy 
 Who has lived outdoors in such a place as 
 
 this 
 Should beat the soundest critic in the 
 
 world, 
 If only he can get my point of view." 
 This was the way he used to start with 
 
 me: 
 He'd fill his canvas in with general tones 
 In large bold masses, make me turn my 
 
 head 
 Sideways, and ask me if they matched the 
 
 real. 
 It took some time before I came to see 
 Just what he wanted. "So you didn't 
 
 know 
 That hill was blue," he said the first day 
 
 out; 
 "Thought it was green because the grass 
 
 was green. 
 But look now, only lean your head and 
 
 look — 
 
 33 
 
SEA AND BAY 
 
 It's blue, you see. We let our foolish 
 
 minds 
 Obscure our eyes. No matter what you 
 
 think, 
 If you think wrong. Start fresh and get 
 
 the facts — 
 That puts men right in life as well as art.'* 
 So after a while I got to know his ways 
 And fit myself to suit them. — Short he 
 
 was, 
 Dapper and stoutish, rather old than 
 
 young, 
 And therefore set In his manner. At the 
 
 core 
 Dead earnest, but as playful on the top 
 As any truant schoolboy. None the less 
 He kept you where he wanted you. His 
 
 name 
 Was Atwood Brinton. 
 
 By the second week 
 We two were like old comrades, for he 
 
 talked 
 Between the bursts of painting, and his 
 
 speech 
 Had all the life and color of his brush. 
 34 
 
BAY 
 
 Longing to question him, I quickly found 
 That If I chose my time It rather pleased 
 Than Irked him. When he measuredly 
 
 pronounced 
 His first large picture finished, I inquired 
 If those grey blurs were trees, those 
 
 brown ones cows. 
 And why he didn't make them look more 
 
 real. 
 "Look, youngster, look! You think you 
 
 see a cow 
 Because your mind tells you It is a cow. 
 And, knowing what cows look like from 
 
 near by, 
 You force the details into what you see 
 From far. But shut your meddling mind 
 
 and look. 
 You don't see horns and shoulder, ribs 
 
 and tail; 
 You see a brown spot. Well, and there 
 
 you are!" 
 Then his enthusiasm for art and life 
 Were still so fresh. I thought I had posed 
 
 him once, 
 
 35 
 
SEA AND BAY 
 
 When he'd been saying Nature was so 
 
 grand 
 That even the greatest painter couldn't 
 
 hope 
 To put the whole on canvas, I inquired 
 If photographs weren't better than his 
 
 art, 
 Since they put all in. "Put in all of what? 
 Why, all the trees and clouds and waves, 
 
 you say. 
 But does that give you Nature? No, no 
 
 more 
 Than the town census gives you breathing 
 
 men. 
 Dry facts aren't Nature; Nature is a 
 
 thrill, 
 A bounding in the blood. Leave out 
 
 man's heart 
 And there is no Nature, only stocks and 
 
 stones. 
 Nature is just the wide deep soul of things 
 That speaks to all of us, giving each no 
 
 more 
 I'han he can comprehend. Those men 
 
 who paint 
 
 36 
 
BAY 
 
 Just rocks and trees do worse than pho- 
 tographs, 
 But he who paints the harmony and joy 
 Which Nature's voice awakens In his soul 
 Brings, poet-like, new beauty down to 
 
 earth. 
 As no man's soul Is big enough to grasp 
 The whole of Nature, so In some degree 
 The greatest painters fail. — Why, bless 
 
 the boy! 
 His brow's as wrinkled as a millionaire's, 
 His eyes are bulging and his mouth agape. 
 Don't try to gulp all Emerson at once. 
 Sonny, but give me a hand here with my 
 
 traps 
 Or else we shan't be home by supper 
 
 He made the commonest things seem 
 wonderful, 
 And let a flood of feeling and ideas 
 Pour in upon my mind. When he found 
 
 out 
 That I was quick at books, he lent me his, 
 37 
 
SEA AND BAY 
 
 Especially poetry, and best of all 
 His voice evoked the living music hid 
 In each harmonious cadence. By his aid 
 I saw the host of rebel angels whelmed 
 In gulfs of quenchless fire. His sympathy 
 Revealed the limpid depth of Words- 
 worth's mind. 
 I saw prismatic hues of Shelleian joy, 
 And drank delicious nectar draughts of 
 
 Keats. 
 "Poems and music teach men hoW to 
 
 paint, 
 And pictures how to write," he often 
 
 said. 
 Two things perplexed me in my new- 
 found friend: 
 First, why with all the world from which 
 
 to choose 
 He came to summer by our barren shore; 
 And why with all his passionate delight 
 In poetry he wrote none for himself. 
 One rainy day, though, he replied to both 
 These points by handing me a scribbled 
 sheet: 
 
 38 
 
BAY 
 
 A Painter in New England 
 
 Did you ever note the beauty of the soft 
 New England grasses, 
 All the ochres, reds and browns? 
 And the flowers: the purple asters and the 
 goldenrod's rich masses, 
 With the cardinals^ flaming gowns, 
 Dots of blood against the tangle of the 
 
 reedy, lone morasses, 
 Where the nodding cat-tails rustle under 
 every wind that passes. 
 Ah! what reticent depth of color. 
 Growing brighter, growing duller, 
 As a smile of sunlight broadens or a brow 
 of storm-cloud frowns! 
 
 Have you read the blazoned glory of the 
 sunset's revelations. 
 Glowing scarlet streaked with gold; 
 Have you seen the sky-towers crumbling 
 in stupendous conflagrations. 
 Passing gorgeous to behold? 
 While the east is hung with tapestries in 
 dove-serene gradations, 
 39 
 
SEA AND BAY 
 
 And the naked vault of heaven is filled 
 with rosy undulations? 
 Where in all the world resplendent 
 Or the poet's mind transcendent 
 Can such miracles be rivaled, form so 
 grand or hue so bold? 
 
 Have you watched the dreamy progress 
 of a gray New England schooner 
 Drifting seaward with the tide 
 Darkly down a lane of radiance, dawn-lit 
 gold or silvery lunar, 
 Ribbon narrow or ocean wide? 
 Such a boat in such a background I will 
 
 paint you ten times sooner 
 Than a lily-perfect yacht with drooping 
 topsail and ballooner. 
 No, for me the old-time vessel 
 In a land-locked bay to nestle 
 Till the light wind flaps her staysail and 
 the light wave laps her side. 
 
 Have you shrunk before the grimness of 
 the rugged longshore ledges 
 Where the groundswell surf rolls in 
 40 
 
BAY 
 
 Round the hattlemented coastline with its 
 walls and bastion wedges? 
 Hark! the cave-resounded din, 
 As a breaker smites the granite with the 
 
 strength of giant sledges, 
 And a swaying fringe of foam enfolds the 
 rampart's dripping edges. 
 Lovely lands across the ocean 
 Thrill the heart with quick emotion. 
 But the shore of staid New England holds 
 a rapture hard to win. 
 
 These lines of Brinton's gave the common 
 
 sights 
 Of every day an unfamiliar tone. 
 It filled me with delight, almost with awe 
 To find the quiet district where I lived 
 So full of inspiration. When I tried 
 To master this, the painter mused a while 
 Before he spoke. "Yes, boy, no land Fve 
 
 seen 
 Can speak to me as this does. Just the 
 
 same 
 I'm not surprised that you're surprised at 
 
 me. 
 
 41 
 
SEA AND BAY 
 
 It's only after you've enriched your eyes 
 
 With years of travel that you get to know 
 
 The things you used to look at as a boy. 
 
 You've got to live and spread. It's not 
 the eyes 
 
 At all I really mean, it takes the soul 
 
 To see the only things worth looking at. 
 
 Go out and live first, then come back and 
 see." 
 
 I told him I was poor. *'Don't stop for 
 that," 
 
 He urged me; '*seize your chance and get 
 away, — 
 
 It don't much matter where, but get be- 
 yond 
 
 Your bay and see yourself with other 
 eyes." 
 
 Our conversations used to make me feel 
 Half proud and half abashed that such a 
 
 man 
 Should waste his genius on a country boy. 
 At last the day before he was to leave 
 I hinted this. He laid a kindly hand 
 42 
 
BAY 
 
 Across my shoulder, looked me in the 
 
 eyes, 
 And with a gentler and more personal 
 
 tone 
 Than he had ever used, he said, "Young 
 
 chap, 
 Fm fond of you. There's something in 
 
 your look 
 That tells me you're worth while. I like 
 
 to talk, 
 That's true enough — it lets my pressure 
 
 down 
 And clears me of cobwebs — but I'm not 
 
 the man 
 To speak about the things I care for most 
 With every one. I noticed from the start 
 How quickly you caught on, how keen you 
 
 were 
 To wrestle with new problems; and I've 
 
 watched 
 Your face light up with glowing earnest- 
 ness 
 When finer thoughts evoked your finer 
 self. 
 
 43 
 
SEA AND BAY 
 
 Then I found out the pace you set at 
 
 school, 
 And let you have your head. The way 
 
 you ran 
 To what was best In Nature and In books 
 Made me feel doubly certain I was right 
 In what I thought before. Lad, don't for- 
 get 
 You've got the aptitude for better things 
 Than farming. See you get away from 
 
 here. 
 If lack of money keeps you, write to me. 
 Another thing. Last Sunday afternoon 
 I saw you with a girl." (Hilda It was, 
 With whom I went much less when Brln- 
 
 ton came.) 
 "Don't blush, I compliment you on your 
 
 taste ; 
 She seemed a very queen of curds and 
 
 cream. 
 As Shakespeare says. Now lots of silly 
 
 chaps 
 Find sweethearts long before they find a 
 
 trade. 
 
 44 
 
BAY 
 
 Don't you do that. Go out and make your 
 
 way 
 Before you ask her. Maybe she's the girl 
 Of girls for you, but look around a bit 
 And you'll not choose the worse." 
 
 The following day 
 I drove my patron to the train; we said 
 Good-bye, and he was hurried from my 
 
 sight. 
 But even had we never met again, 
 I could not show with any words of 
 
 mine 
 The influence which his summer visit had 
 On all my later life. 
 
 The next year passed 
 In life monotonous as the quiet bay. 
 Rippled by crispy wavelets of events, 
 Till like a swift, appalling tidal-wave 
 Came tragedy. One Sunday late in June 
 A friend of mine had taken his sweet- 
 heart out 
 To sail, and I was watching from the 
 
 shore. 
 The breeze died down, the lifeless atmos- 
 phere 
 
 45 
 
SEA AND BAY 
 
 Was sultry and oppressive. Soon I saw 
 That in the north dark clouds were piling 
 
 up, — 
 A squall for sure. The boat was two 
 
 miles out 
 But near an island; safe enough, I 
 
 thought. 
 The clouds flew quickly like a thronging 
 
 troop 
 Of genii that one reads of in the tales, 
 Black and malignant, while a coppery 
 
 light 
 Glowed underneath. Across the water 
 
 spread 
 A shadow like an inkstain, flecked with 
 
 white. 
 It neared the boat. 'Twas time my friend 
 
 dropped sail 
 And pulled to the island. Then — what 
 
 can he mean? 
 Surely he won't — ^but yes, he comes about, 
 Misjudging or in pure foolhardiness, 
 To run full sail before the driving gust. 
 Ah, well, perhaps he'll make it. The first 
 
 puff 
 
 46 
 
BAY 
 
 He weathers, edging carefully across 
 Till opposite the beach where, terror- 
 fixed, 
 I follow every plunge. He nears the 
 
 shore. 
 Already I can see the girl's white face 
 And his neck-muscles, tense and resolute. 
 When with a merciless push the brutal 
 
 storm 
 Crushes the struggling sail against the 
 
 waves. 
 My will flames up. I launch my heavy 
 
 skiff 
 With desperate strength to meet the sud- 
 den need. 
 Shoving her through the breakers, jump- 
 ing in. 
 And tugging at the oars. Not fifty yards 
 Away they're clinging to the upturned 
 
 keel 
 That wallows deep, death-cradled in the 
 
 trough 
 Between the foaming crests. I battle on 
 And try to think.— I've got to get them in 
 47 
 
SEA AND BAY 
 
 Before they pass the point. No easy job 
 To keep from swamping in a sea like 
 
 this. — 
 There ! Dead ahead ! I mustn't run them 
 
 down. 
 Good boy! He's got her fast. No time 
 
 to lose. 
 Now up alongside, ship oars and drag her 
 
 in! 
 I have her shoulders. Quick ! before this 
 
 wave — 
 Thank God! she tumbles somehow into 
 
 the boat. 
 Now him. — That breaker threw us far 
 
 apart. — 
 Where is he? There's the slippery keel, 
 
 but where 
 Is he? — I stand and stare across the 
 
 gulfs. — 
 No form, no cry to show me where to 
 
 turn. 
 No time to weigh the horror. Back to 
 
 shore ! 
 Or lose her too. 
 
 48 
 
BAY 
 
 Well, that was all. IVe heard 
 That drowning men come up before they 
 
 sink ; 
 It was not so with him, I never saw 
 His living face again. — It all came back 
 Just now as if I lived it while I spoke, 
 And yet 'twas forty years since. — Oh, the 
 
 girl! 
 She's now a grandmother, very handsome 
 
 still 
 They say.^ — But to come back to where I 
 
 was. 
 Mother, when they had got me to the 
 
 house, 
 Began to scold as if I'd just been caught 
 In mischief: "Mercy me! He'll get his 
 
 death 
 Of cold. Soaked through, and in his Sun- 
 day clothes!" 
 Her care soon brought me round, and 
 
 people said 
 That she was proud of me; but she never 
 
 let 
 Me see it. All she said was, "Let this be 
 A warning to you." How I couldn't guess, 
 
 49 
 
SEA AND BAY 
 
 Till when I was well at last she spoke It 
 
 out. 
 ^'Promise me, Alden, that you'll never go 
 To sea. No good will ever come of it, 
 And I should never spend a quiet night 
 Thinking you might be took like Edward 
 
 Coles." 
 ''But, Mother, that was on the hayJ' 
 
 "What then? 
 Wouldn't the sea be twenty times as bad?" 
 Perhaps she was right; to me she only 
 
 proved 
 The very opposite of what she wished. 
 Poor Edward's fate was terrible, but then 
 I thought that, if a man might drown at 
 
 home. 
 He had better far strike out into the world 
 And so get something for his risk. The 
 
 farm 
 Grew daily more distasteful. I would 
 
 roam 
 More often on the cliffs to watch the surf. 
 The dithyrambic rapture of the sea. 
 My wanderlust was fed by all I saw 
 50 
 
BAY 
 
 And all I read. A book of Shakespeare's 
 
 plays 
 Which Mr. Brinton sent me stirred my 
 
 soul 
 With passion for adventure : noble deeds, 
 Chlvalric love, the conduct of affairs. 
 The bold plots of ambitious villainy 
 So humanly portrayed, all nursed In me 
 The spirit of unrest, of discontent 
 With mean surroundings. — Often at the 
 
 quay 
 rd wait to watch the dingy mackerel boats 
 Ball out their slippery load of shining 
 
 fish, 
 And hear the old salts tell of deep-sea 
 
 work. 
 Of halibut that weighed three hundred 
 
 pounds 
 And fabulous hauls of cod. While I was 
 
 there 
 One evening. Uncle slapped me on the 
 
 back. 
 "How'd you enjoy to try the Banks?" he 
 
 asked. 
 
 51 
 
SEA AND BAY 
 
 I must have looked my answer, for he 
 
 said, 
 "We'll think it over, boy," and strolled 
 
 away. 
 I worked my best at school with vague 
 
 ideas 
 That this would somehow help, and when 
 
 I had time, 
 I sought the cliffs and shared the ocean's 
 
 mood: 
 Its huge reproach of craven languidness, 
 Its sting to manly enterprise, its voice 
 Of elemental strength; and many a night 
 My heart would throb as if the keen salt 
 
 tide 
 Was poured into my veins. No more for 
 
 me 
 The torpid reaches of the mawkish bay! 
 
 One thing alone restrained me. It was 
 not 
 Mother (nor yet the farm, which Phil 
 
 could take) 
 Nor Jane, whose counsel I no longer 
 sought, 
 
 52 
 
BAY 
 
 Though least of all would she have held 
 
 me back. 
 No, it was Hilda; for a time eclipsed 
 By last year's visitor, but shining now 
 With the more radiance. — I was just 
 
 eighteen. 
 Finished with school, and galled past 
 
 words to tell 
 By toil that bent and dulled and brutalized 
 All that was best of me. In one more 
 
 year 
 The blisters would be callous to the yoke 
 And I a broken drudge; the time had 
 
 come 
 When I should make my choice of sea and 
 
 bay. 
 Hilda was of the bay, no longer now 
 A sturdy school-girl, but a maid full- 
 grown. 
 Slender and tall and shy, yet kind to me; 
 Face almost classic, hair a thrush-like 
 
 brown. 
 Blue eyes that shone with calm nobility. 
 And voice clear treble (though 'twould 
 break sometimes 
 53 
 
SEA AND BAY 
 
 Beneath the stress of Hilda's earnest 
 
 thought) . 
 A native grace she had in homehest things, 
 And people loved her. No one else could 
 
 charm 
 The gloomy bitterness of Mother's 
 
 moods, 
 Or rouse in Phil the shame of awkward- 
 ness; 
 And she was Jane's best friend. 
 
 One Sunday morn 
 Uncle came round to tell me of a berth 
 On a Newfoundland fishing-boat to sail 
 Next Wednesday for the Banks. That 
 
 afternoon — 
 No storm had dared to frown on such a 
 
 day — 
 Hilda and I went rowing. Just before 
 I had felt myself above the rural swarm, 
 With my great prospects come to me so 
 
 soon. 
 But there alone with Hilda all my pride 
 Grew meek, my self-conceit was over- 
 awed; 
 She was so simple yet so wonderful. 
 54 
 
BAY 
 
 The charm of all my boyhood memories 
 Was clustered round her : that serene ex- 
 panse 
 Of shining beauty blest with azure light, 
 The nestling islands, and the curving 
 
 shore 
 (Delicious as the line of Hilda's throat) 
 Were consecrated visibly; and she. 
 This maiden seated in my clumsy skiff, 
 Was grown the living presence of the 
 
 whole. 
 As I have seen the sunset-glow pour down 
 A dim cathedral nave, and dreamed the 
 
 saint 
 Was floating in the radiance, so her form 
 (Though plainly clad as suited with the 
 
 scene) 
 Was shrined ethereal in the misty beams 
 That flooded through a rift of western 
 
 cloud. 
 Nor did her aureole vanish when the skiff 
 Crunched on the pebbles of the lonely isle 
 Which we had planned to visit. Out she 
 
 stepped; 
 
 55 
 
SEA AND BAY 
 
 We climbed the bank and strolled until 
 
 we found 
 A plot of greensward where the fading 
 
 lights 
 Play trixy through the trees. There we 
 
 sat down 
 And talked of my career. She asked to 
 
 know 
 If it were true I thought to go to sea. 
 I told her yes, I had no calling here, 
 That life was cramped within the narrow 
 
 bay 
 And that the ocean was the sole escape. 
 **Your mother, Alden, will she let you 
 
 go?" 
 "It's not a case of letting. I can't stay 
 And stifle here." 
 
 "How can you speak like that? 
 Your folks have always lived here hap- 
 
 Your friends are here. Why should you 
 
 go away 
 From every one that cares for you. The 
 
 sea's 
 
 56 
 
BAY 
 
 So wild and fierce. Father don't set much 
 
 store 
 By sailors, calls them all a shiftless set 
 That lead an ugly life. I know youVe not 
 A rough boy, Alden. Is there nothing 
 
 here 
 To keep you?" 
 
 Then the crucial conflict came. 
 The bay shone forth so fair in Hilda's 
 
 eyes 
 That the rude sea shrank backward for 
 
 a time. 
 And I could have promised never to de- 
 part 
 Had I but dared to take her slim brown 
 
 hand. 
 But no. The tumult of the restless deep 
 Swelled up and burst in bitter, angry 
 
 words : 
 "To keep me here? No, what should keep 
 
 me here? 
 Poor Mother frets, most people think me 
 
 proud. 
 And Jane, the one of all who understands, 
 Says go. — Hilda, I want to be a man 
 57 
 
SEA AND BAY 
 
 And not a fence-pole rotting in the earth. 
 
 No one gets on here, it's a stagnant pool; 
 
 As if there were no larger way of life, 
 
 No sea where tradewinds drive to for- 
 eign ports. 
 
 Where navies clash and danger leads to 
 fame. 
 
 Fd rather sail and drown on my first 
 cruise 
 
 Than mildew for a lifetime by the bay." 
 
 Her eyes grew wide with terror and 
 surprise, 
 
 For never had she heard my thoughts 
 rush out 
 
 So vehemently. But Hilda had no fear 
 
 In her own faith. *'You're talking wick- 
 edly. 
 
 Aren't we all given the places where we 
 are 
 
 To stay just there? Whoever does what's 
 right 
 
 Should always feel contented with his lot 
 
 And not dispute with Providence. Only 
 think. 
 
 58 
 
BAY 
 
 You know your mother loves you, and we 
 
 all 
 Admire you and expect great things of 
 
 you. 
 But why not do them here?" 
 
 "Mend chicken coops 
 And dig potatoes? Hilda, take my word, 
 I wasn't meant to stay here. In my heart 
 The call to launch out in the bigger world 
 Is like the voice of God; it murmurs low 
 And urgent as the steady southwest wind, 
 Summoning me to find the bigger place 
 That Fm to fill. Don't hinder me, — and 
 
 yet 
 Please don't forget me. Fll come back 
 
 sometime, 
 I hope, and find you as you have always 
 
 been." 
 She could not comprehend it, but she 
 
 felt 
 That I spoke truth. — In silence we rowed 
 
 back; 
 She musing with a puzzled, anxious look, 
 I dreaming of my future on the sea. 
 
 59 
 
PART II 
 SEA 
 
Sea Song 
 
 / have lent fnyself to thy will, O Seal 
 
 To the urge of thy tidal sway; 
 My soul to thy lure of inystery, 
 My cheek to thy lashing spray. 
 
 For there's never a man whose blood 
 
 runs wann 
 But would quaff the wine of the brim- 
 ming storm. 
 As the prodigal lends have I lent to thee, 
 For a day or a year and a day. 
 
 And what if the tale be quickly told 
 
 And the voyage he wild and brief? 
 I can face thy fury with courage bold 
 And never a whine of grief, 
 
 Though peril-fanged is thy grisly 
 
 track, 
 The ship goes out that never comes 
 back, 
 
 63 
 
SEA AND BAY 
 
 And the sailor^ s whitened hone's are rolled 
 In the surge of the whitening reef. 
 
 The shores recede, the great sails fill, 
 
 The lee rail hisses under. 
 As we double the cape of Lighthouse Hill 
 Where sea and harbor sunder. 
 
 Then here*s to a season of glad un- 
 rest! 
 With an anchor of hope on the sea- 
 man's breast, 
 Till I claim once more from thy savage 
 will 
 A soul that is fraught with wonder. 
 
 Forth from the harbor, forth into the 
 world, 
 
 Forth on the heaving billowy ocean flood! 
 
 No matter how or where, the crucial point 
 
 Of each man^s life is when he leaves the 
 bay, 
 
 Spreads his white sails before the ruf- 
 fling breeze, 
 
 And takes the first plunge of the hollow 
 surge. 
 
 64 
 
SEA 
 
 Oh, thrill of first adventure ! Overhead 
 
 Flew pearly cloudlets; on our lee the cliffs, 
 
 So formidable once, were fading low; 
 
 Beneath, the cloven wave's translucent 
 green 
 
 Sprang into spray along the dipping stem; 
 
 And somewhere out beyond those curling 
 crests 
 
 Lay, golden as with promise, the un- 
 known. 
 I skip the dull routine. A sailor's life 
 
 On board a fishing boat is not much worse 
 
 Than most apprenticeships. It seems to 
 me 
 
 That when a man signs on he takes his job 
 
 For good or bad. Best like it if he can; 
 
 If not, still pride and shame will see him 
 through. 
 
 The work was heavy, deep-sea lines and 
 trawls. 
 
 With all the seaman's regular round be- 
 sides: 
 
 Fog, storm, long hours of strain, bad 
 food, hard words 
 
 And little rest; yet somehow, all in all, 
 
 65 
 
SEA AND BAY 
 
 The time was good. It's good for any 
 
 man 
 To know he fills a place, to find himself 
 Coming to blows with rough reality 
 And learning the great game. But more 
 
 than this, 
 I liked the open, felt a dignity 
 In playing my small part on such a stage, 
 The clouds for background and the un- 
 tiring sea 
 For my antagonist. My companions, too, 
 Though harsh of voice and feature, had a 
 
 look 
 Of strength, I almost think of majesty. 
 Like Roman legionaries, battle-scarred 
 By spears of wild barbarians In the north. 
 We had great moments. Not a day went 
 
 by _ _ 
 
 But brought Its tithe of wonder : changing 
 
 lights 
 And aspects of the sea, a mighty fish, 
 An ocean-liner cleaving through the fog. 
 Old tales of daring told beneath the stars. 
 The acrid taste has mellowed with the 
 
 years, 
 
 66 
 
SEA 
 
 And when I choose a vintage of the past 
 And set it to my lips, a youthful glow 
 Steals from the well-stored wine of mem- 
 ory 
 Into my blood. 
 
 I sit here by the lamp, 
 Letting my thoughts drift back indefinitely 
 Till some one scene grows clearer than 
 
 the rest. 
 Just now it seems to be a lonely night 
 Of moonlight, mid the fog. — We slid, 
 
 close-hauled, 
 Across an easy swell. The fog all day 
 Had baffled us; towards midnight now it 
 
 thinned. 
 Showing a dim wraith of the rising moon. 
 Lustreless and forlorn. An eerie shock 
 I felt to see beneath no waves at all. 
 To float as it were in chaos — for the mist 
 We lay in seemed to hang unpoised in 
 
 space — ; 
 Then vaguely to discern the chilly track 
 Of the faint moonlight's fingers in a line 
 Of blurred reflections o'er the black pro- 
 found. 
 
 67 
 
SEA AND BAY 
 
 I was a weak soul in a world unborn, 
 Intent upon that trembling, dubious sign 
 Of nature taking form. An unseen brush 
 Painted an unseen canvas with pale 
 
 strokes 
 Of silver. — While I dreamed, a heavy 
 
 hand 
 Fell on my shoulder, and a rumbling voice 
 Growled out, ^'Eight bells ! Stand by for 
 
 observations." 
 I fetched my book and by the lantern's 
 
 light 
 Took down the figures, as the fog-bank 
 
 passed 
 And Bill could sight the Dipper. Strange 
 
 It was 
 There in the moonlight on the slanting 
 
 deck 
 To gaze across the weltering bright ex- 
 panse. 
 To hear the lap and gurgle of the waves, 
 And then by looking at some distant star 
 And doing sums like those I had done at 
 
 school 
 To ascertain just where on that wide sea 
 68 
 
SEA 
 
 Our little boat was tossing. — Very 
 
 strange ! 
 Out there, a thousand miles from home, 
 
 but so 
 I learned how science rules the modern 
 
 world. 
 
 Finding me quick at figures, Captain 
 
 West 
 Had made old Bill teach me the rule-of- 
 
 thumb 
 Of navigation. In a month or so 
 I picked up quite a smattering, learned to 
 
 use 
 The sextant, calculate our longitude 
 And plot the course. A lucky thing for me ! 
 For when old Bill was thrown and broke 
 
 his leg, 
 I took his place, consulting now and then, 
 And all went smoothly. When I came 
 
 back home 
 The bay meant nothing to me, I was all 
 On fire to make my fortune on the sea. 
 Folks thought me even prouder than be- 
 fore, 
 
 69 
 
SEA AND BAY 
 
 But it was not so; now I felt myself 
 A smaller person in a larger world 
 Where I must make my way, cost what it 
 
 might. 
 My thoughts and speech were only of the 
 
 sea, 
 So that poor Mother knew not what to do, 
 And Hilda was less friendly; only Jane 
 Hailed my new triumph with unstinted 
 
 joy. 
 I studied navigation day and night. 
 Then in the spring I came before the 
 
 Board 
 And got my license. Uncle Alden knew 
 The owner of a coaster, and through him 
 I shipped as second mate. 
 
 I shall not tell 
 The details of my progress, how at first 
 The ocean seemed a highway to success 
 Broad and inviting, with the ^'realms of 
 
 gold" 
 Not far to seek, just somewhere over 
 
 there 
 Across yon purple rim, beyond the lift 
 Of grey sails in the ofiing. Day by day 
 70 
 
SEA 
 
 With tireless confidence I laid my course 
 
 And strove to get my bearings ; here I had 
 gained, 
 
 There lost, and there again had been be- 
 calmed. 
 
 What wonder if a sailor thinks it luck? 
 
 'Tis bitter discipline to do one's best 
 
 And find that all the striving comes to 
 naught. 
 
 Frustrated by the whim of wind and tide. 
 
 So the first vears it seemed, I had no way 
 
 Of showing I could fill a higher place. 
 
 Then came promotion, and from that time 
 on 
 
 I saw that every sailor has his chance 
 
 With others. If his will-power gives him 
 steam 
 
 To drive him, and if knowledge holds the 
 wheel, 
 
 He'll dock with flags a-flutter, bands a- 
 blare. 
 
 Life after all is science and hard work; 
 
 Failure means ignorance on the quarter- 
 deck 
 
 Or laziness in the engine-room. The start 
 71 
 
SEA AND BAY 
 
 Counts something, but good reckoning 
 
 counts far more. 
 The trip, God wiUIng, is a fair long 
 
 course, 
 The better boat has time enough to win. — 
 YouUl note my figures changed from sail 
 
 to steam; 
 'Twas not an error but a simple fact, 
 For after various berths I found myself 
 Mate on an ocean liner. I was then 
 But twenty-five, still young for such a 
 
 post. 
 
 I liked my calling, liked to think I 
 lived 
 By service to my fellows; not by tricks 
 Of pulling down some rival from above 
 And climbing to his place, but by sheer 
 
 grit. 
 By fighting only with the elements. 
 Where victory meant a gain to all con- 
 cerned. 
 With every trip I came to love the sea 
 More passionately, — that purple foaming 
 cup 
 
 72 
 
SEA 
 
 Raised by an unseen giant toward the sun, 
 While in the midst our vessel crept along 
 Like some poor kicking, wing-bedraggled 
 fly. 
 
 Eager of spirit as I was, the sea 
 Gave to me always more than I could 
 
 take. 
 That huge impersonal personality 
 Through changing moods of loveliness 
 
 and strength. 
 Of starlight calm or devastating storm. 
 Was always new and vital. No contempt 
 Was bred of long acquaintance, but an 
 
 awe 
 Deep as the depth of mid-sea solitudes 
 Fell on my heart with every dawn that 
 
 bloomed, 
 A saffron-petaled lily, in the east. 
 For Aphrodite, mystic and divine 
 As in the tales that charm the soul of 
 
 youth 
 In men and nations, floating on her shell 
 Would wake and smile to greet the quick- 
 ening light 
 
 73 
 
SEA AND BAY 
 
 Whose radiant fingers would unloose the 
 
 robe 
 Of rainbow mist that veiled her shining 
 
 form, 
 Fair as the rosy-tinted Alpine snow, 
 And graceful as the gently curving wave. 
 Here was no Venus to enflame desire 
 And break the spell of dreaming, but a 
 
 girl 
 The maiden Aphrodite, ocean-born. 
 Unwed, unwooed, unseen of mortal 
 
 man, — 
 The lover's earliest thought enshrined in 
 
 light. 
 Not touched by mid-day warmth. How 
 
 oft I knew 
 Delight no words can hint at! It would 
 
 steal 
 Upon me with the dawn, fading toward 
 
 noon. 
 And with the sunset hovering once again 
 Above the glinting waters, till it passed, 
 Leaving to me a joy more sharp than 
 
 pain. 
 
 74 
 
SEA 
 
 Such was the ocean's loveliness. Its 
 might, 
 With throes of shattering, stupendous 
 
 power, 
 Aroused in me a sort of berserk lust 
 To match with this grim foeman breast 
 
 to breast. 
 When the fierce gale descended with the 
 
 dark. 
 Lashing the waves which grinned like 
 
 snarling wolves, 
 And the keen wind flew screaming 
 
 through the spars, 
 I felt my Anglo-Saxon blood run fast 
 To greet the combat. Then before my 
 
 gaze 
 A field of dismal carnage dimly stretched. 
 Where heroes clove their way through 
 
 walls of shields. 
 And whizzing arrows laid the spearmen 
 
 low. 
 Or my stern fancy, with a bolder flight. 
 Would limn the fatal Twilight of the 
 
 Gods: 
 The warriors of Valhalla grappling there 
 
 75 
 
SEA AND BAY 
 
 With giants and with demons, mighty 
 
 Thor 
 Strangling the Midgard Serpent, Odin 
 
 near 
 In deadly combat with the Fenris Wolf. 
 I heard the whinnying of Valkyrie steeds 
 Above the murky world, mid rolling 
 
 clouds 
 Shot through with shafts of lightning. 
 
 Thus my mind, 
 Fed with Norse fable, peopled all the 
 
 stage 
 With mythic monsters, when the wind and 
 
 sea 
 Would summon these gaunt shadows of 
 
 the past. 
 Bidding me claim the ancient heritage 
 Bequeathed to me by viking ancestors. 
 
 I could not long indulge myself with 
 
 scenes 
 Of Greek and Norse mythology. My 
 
 work 
 Was constant and exacting, a mistake 
 
 76 
 
SEA 
 
 Of hand or judgment and our ship had 
 
 gone 
 To Davy Jones. Unending mathematics 
 Did now what once the practiced eye 
 
 would do. 
 All this has science wrought. So much 
 
 is now 
 Done by machinery, that the race of men 
 Are scarcely more than tools in the great 
 
 mill 
 Of modern industry. Our lower self 
 Is bestial, as the law of flesh ordains. 
 Small room for soul is left between the 
 
 two, 
 Upper and nether mill-stones, grinding 
 
 man 
 'Twixt brutish sense and hard. Insistent 
 
 mind. 
 'TIs only Nature saves us from ourselves, 
 Who with her simple love serene and 
 
 strong, 
 Her all-enchanting daylight wizardry, 
 Calls to the child in us to come and play. 
 To leave the unhealthy house of goblin 
 
 thoughts 
 
 77 
 
SEA AND BAY 
 
 That scratch and scamper In the empty 
 
 rooms, 
 And come Into the open. If we yield, 
 She will not cease to draw us on and on, 
 Leading us mystically back to God. 
 And what more godlike has our universe 
 Than the unchanging, ever-changeful sea, 
 The transient symbol of eternal truth? 
 
 Sometimes amid the storm I heard a 
 voice 
 
 That penetrated to my soul; a voice. 
 
 Persistent through the tremor of the 
 winds 
 
 And deeper than the crashing of the 
 waves. 
 
 Which gave me confidence. 'Twas not 
 the voice 
 
 Of reason, which had taught me to de- 
 spair. 
 
 The tones which then I heard were for 
 the ear 
 
 Of faith alone, and dimly as they spoke, 
 
 They told me that my life was in His care 
 
 78 
 
SEA 
 
 Who had made the sea and held it in His 
 
 hand. 
 Once in especial did I feel that faith, 
 In a West Indian hurricane: — waves 
 
 mast-high 
 And purplish black beneath a sky which 
 
 hung 
 Like the Great Terror, while a ghastly 
 
 light 
 Shone through, as if the malice of his eyes 
 Glared out beneath the menace of his 
 
 frown. 
 Though gale and billow rushed at his com- 
 mand. 
 Yet he, beholding with satanic pride. 
 Forbore to turn his Nero thumb and give 
 The signal to destroy us. We meanwhile 
 Fought for two days to meet the storm 
 
 head-on, 
 Our small ship lurching down the ocean 
 
 hills 
 As to some dread abyss, then pausing, ris- 
 ing 
 With slow heart-sickening effort, throw- 
 ing tons 
 
 79 
 
SEA AND BAY 
 
 Of foamless water from her forward 
 
 deck, 
 To cilmb another hill with drunken heave 
 And topple helpless downward. As her 
 
 bow 
 Thus overhung, a smaller wave would 
 
 smite 
 Like a skilled boxer's fist beneath the chin. 
 Shattering the strength. A sidewise blow 
 
 would drive 
 Us bulwarks under, pushing ever down. 
 Till scarcely we could stagger up again. 
 Within the ship 'twas dark as doom, and 
 
 screams 
 Of women rang like shrieks of tortured 
 
 souls. 
 On the third day the rudder was torn off. 
 The engine stalled, the steel plates 
 
 wrenched and bent 
 Till water poured in through a score of 
 
 seams. 
 The wind was even stronger than before, 
 The sky more angry and the waves more 
 
 huge. 
 
 80 
 
SEA 
 
 No one had slept, our food was running 
 
 short, 
 And we were roHlng crippled in the 
 
 trough 
 Of waves so steep we hardly saw the sky 
 Between them. Then at last the captain 
 
 paused 
 From fighting, and his tense-drawn face 
 
 relaxed. 
 (I was alone with him in the pilot house.) 
 His solemn gentle look was strange to me 
 Amid such pressing peril, till he spoke : 
 "Carr, under God, we've done the best we 
 
 could. 
 We'll leave it to His will, perhaps He 
 
 means 
 To show how vain our efforts are and 
 
 make 
 Us trust in Him entirely. — ^Well, I do. 
 And if we sink next minute, as we may, 
 I'll never think but He ordained it so. 
 And yet His Hand might save us even 
 
 now." 
 I looked toward heaven as the vessel rose, 
 8i 
 
SEA AND BAY 
 
 And there above the wave's long crest I 
 
 saw 
 A blue rift open in the pall of cloud, 
 And thin pure rays of sunlight spilling 
 
 through. 
 Then the Great Terror trembled, and the 
 
 glare 
 Faded within his eyes, his form dislimned, 
 He shrank away before the smile of 
 
 God.— 
 That night the tempest fell and we were 
 saved. 
 There was God's mercy. Oftener still 
 His love 
 Would be made visible, when, sunset- 
 blest, 
 My gaze would drift across the glimmer- 
 ing floor, 
 inimitably lovely, till it reached 
 And rested on the glowing citadels 
 Of rare celestial promise, crowned with 
 
 light 
 Eternal; for although the sun would sink. 
 My soul would take such living hues of 
 joy 
 
 82 
 
SEA 
 
 That memory's brush might use them once 
 
 again 
 To paint the scene in hours when prison- 
 ing skies 
 Would shroud the day with gloom. 
 
 These greater times 
 Of exaltation and of insight came 
 But seldom with their high transcendent 
 
 power; 
 Not often was It granted me to read 
 The word of God (I mean the world) 
 
 with faith 
 So happy. No, nor could I always feel 
 The Grecian beauty or Teutonic strength 
 Reflected from the myths I used to read 
 In school-boy days. Most of the time it 
 
 seemed 
 The ocean was a well-established friend, 
 Breathing a cheerful boisterous comrade- 
 ship, 
 Jostling and tussling as we romped along 
 To try my strength and temper, keep me 
 
 fit 
 In mind and muscle. Or again in calm 
 83 
 
SEA AND BAY 
 
 The deep would be a woman, gentle- 
 browed, 
 But full of ancient guile which blinked 
 
 askance 
 As serpent-subtle as the liquid look 
 Of Cleopatra's veiled and languid eyes. 
 Something there was of wickedness, — 
 
 which all 
 Must meet who would not shun the whole 
 
 of life, — 
 With much of whimsical indifference. 
 So looked the ocean, and I loved the look. 
 And there were other moods innumerable: 
 Fits of the sullens under leaden clouds, 
 Fizzlings of kittenish temper. Then at 
 
 night 
 In stifling calms of tropic latitudes, 
 The sea would slumber like an odalisque 
 With silver bosom and voluptuous limbs 
 Foam-pillowed there beneath the passion- 
 ate stars. 
 So Nature gave me knowledge of the 
 
 world, 
 And things which most men seek for in 
 their kind 
 
 84 
 
SEA 
 
 I saw in this her mighty looking-glass. 
 'Twas for such knowledge that I bore the 
 
 pains 
 Of endless mathematics. 
 
 As I said, 
 I had small leisure in those prentice years 
 For anything but charts and logarithms. 
 A host of fancies filled my vacant hours 
 Just as in boyhood, though I spent some 
 
 time 
 Learning the speech of countries where 
 
 we touched. 
 So life was well divided; strenuous work 
 As hard and actual as a marhne-spike, 
 And leisure on whose soft and dreamy 
 
 tide 
 I floated to another world. No doubt 
 But that I nursed a growing self-conceit 
 Of my own way of living, for I sought 
 No friends, I asked for no society; 
 The world of suffering, all the vast com- 
 plex 
 Of human strife and sorrow, was for me 
 An ugly tangle — none of my affairs; 
 I had my separate duty to fulfill. 
 8s 
 
SEA AND BAY 
 
 With other officers I seldom went 
 Beyond the laugh of messmate jollity. 
 My puritan training by the bay had given 
 A feeling of reserve when glasses clinked 
 And speech threw off restraint; my studi- 
 ous bent 
 Held me aloof as often, — better give 
 My time to mastering French than lose 
 
 it all 
 In vain enjoyment. What New England 
 
 word 
 Holds so much ready-made philosophy 
 As the word "waste"? I didn't mean to 
 
 waste. 
 I never spoke of what I really loved — 
 My memories of the bay, my lone sea- 
 dreams — 
 But used to watch and listen to the rest 
 Without much mixing in. Though I be- 
 came 
 The target of their wit as once I had been 
 The mark of school-boy snowballs, yet I 
 
 grew 
 Ere long case-hardened. Thus on sea or 
 shore 
 
 86 
 
SEA 
 
 I lived alone and did the better work. 
 Women I met but did not learn to know. 
 The thought of Hilda kept me from the 
 
 haunts 
 Of the worse kind; and had I really found 
 A girl who would have roused the best in 
 
 me, 
 I lacked the dash that storms a woman's 
 
 heart, 
 And my profession never left me long 
 In any single port. Such then I was 
 At twenty-five, not lonely but alone 
 And quite content to stay so. 
 
 It was now 
 For the first time I really had a chance 
 To see strange lands and peoples. From 
 
 the ship 
 These lands had seemed a moving-picture 
 
 show 
 Unrolling in an endless film, while we 
 In our high station were the gallery gods. 
 My days on shore had been more 
 
 thronged with sights — 
 The film had run more quickly, one might 
 
 say, — 
 
 87 
 
SEA AND BAY 
 
 But I had never lived myself Into 
 
 The life of those I saw. At last one 
 
 March 
 Our boat was dry-docked, and the officers 
 Given a three-months' leave. Before, I 
 
 used 
 To spend my furloughs by the bay, but 
 
 now — 
 My eyes began to twinkle at the 
 
 thought — 
 I was for Paris ! 'Twas not that I meant 
 To plunge into the current, just to taste 
 The joy of danger. Puritan principles 
 Grow somewhat out of fashion by long 
 
 wear. 
 So done, I settled at a cheap hotel. 
 Drank absinthe, roamed the Latin quar- 
 ter, went 
 To student balls, revues and cabarets. 
 I saw the usual sights — the Louvre, Ver- 
 sailles — 
 And being alone spent all my time Indeed 
 Most commonplacely. In the afternoon 
 I often took a carriage in the Bois, 
 Till when the useless melting of the francs 
 88 
 
SEA 
 
 Wore on my nerves, I would dismount In 
 
 haste. 
 Twas pleasant wandering through the or- 
 dered groves 
 To watch the amorous couples; she with 
 
 looks 
 Bent on the ground, mute and expression- 
 less; 
 He voluble as a magpie, leaning toward 
 
 her 
 With watery eyes and weak importunate 
 
 hands. 
 Better I liked the family picnic groups: 
 The fat old father dozing with his pipe. 
 The mother packing up, their progeny 
 Tossing a colored ball — they never caught 
 
 it, 
 But laughed and ran and tossed, and 
 
 laughed the more. 
 At night I strolled along the glittering 
 
 Seine, 
 Noting the richness of the yellow lights 
 Set in a violet haze, or softlier still 
 Reflected from the black and broken 
 stream, 
 
 89 
 
SEA AND BAY 
 
 While far above rose the gray spectral 
 
 towers 
 Of Notre Dame. Then with a sudden 
 
 burst 
 I would come out into that blind white 
 
 glare, 
 The Place de la Concorde. A dash across, 
 And I would enter the "Elyslan Fields," 
 Cool haunts of quiet, noble avenues 
 Of trees — though scarcely then inhabited 
 By spirits of the blest. But to be frank 
 The sights I saw within doors or without, 
 The painted women and the leering men. 
 Were more than I could stomach. I had 
 
 read 
 In Swinburne of the glories of the flesh, 
 "Rapture and roses," but a single glimpse 
 Of pleasure, so miscalled, sufficed for me. 
 It seemed as though the vices of the East, 
 The abominable rites of Ashtoreth, 
 Were here transplanted to put forth new 
 
 flowers 
 A hundred-fold more poisonous and ob- 
 scene. 
 I tried to vent the fancy in a song. 
 90 
 
SEA 
 
 The Song of Paris 
 
 Oh, I am the new Astarte, 
 
 The goddess of midnight sin. 
 At eve when I mount to my throne on high 
 The terrible hue of leprosy 
 
 Gleams white on my scaly skin. 
 But the music clashes and ye grow blind, 
 The lust-whip lashes you, sense and mind, 
 Ye knaves, ye knaves. 
 Ye knaves that boast you are free. 
 Though ye quaf amain till the quick cham- 
 pagne 
 Makes cruel the heart and mad the brain. 
 Ye are slaves, ye are slaves. 
 Yea, thrice-bound slaves to me. 
 
 Oh, I am the modern Circe 
 
 Of men with the souls of swine. 
 Blaspheming the purest of gods above, 
 You feed upon lust and call it love. 
 Ye man-seeming beasts of mine. 
 You may drink or dance, you may drab 
 or play 
 
 91 
 
SEA AND BAY 
 
 Till you shrink askance at the dawn of 
 day 
 From the flame, from the flame, 
 From the flame of the angry sun. 
 Whirl on, whirl on like the dizzy roulette, 
 The grim old banker will have you yet 
 Ere the game, ere the game, 
 Ere the perilous game be done. 
 
 One morning, steered by fate, I drift- 
 ed through 
 The Luxembourg Museum, and very 
 
 soon, 
 Still steered by fate, I came upon a shoal 
 Of foreign paintings. Very listlessly 
 I tacked about, when with a sudden puff 
 A gust of feeling took my sails aback 
 And laid me on my beam-ends. — There it 
 
 hung 
 An innocent little canvas, four by three; 
 But with the first quick glimpse it took my 
 
 soul 
 Into another world. — I seemed to stand, 
 A youngster in his teens, beside the Bay 
 In Farmer Lawton's field, looking beyond 
 92 
 
SEA 
 
 The new-piled ricks toward Cladding's 
 Cove. 
 
 The clouds, 
 High and transparent, floated meltingly 
 Across the pale blue sky. 'Twas after- 
 noon. 
 The day had been a sultry one, for still 
 The scent of yarrow and bayberry was 
 
 warm. 
 Although a fresh sea-breeze was blowing 
 
 in 
 And crisping the smooth inlet. — I beheld, 
 I reveled, but a sinking emptiness 
 Came o'er my spirit. Something once I'd 
 
 had 
 That I had done without, but wanted 
 
 now; 
 It was not home or kin, not Hilda even. 
 Then — then the curtains of the past 
 
 swung back 
 And there he stood: short, stout and jocu- 
 lar 
 As ever, with his keen dark eyes alert 
 To pierce into the heart of things, his 
 glance 
 
 93 
 
SEA AND BAY 
 
 Kind, but less kindly than Inspiring. Ah ! 
 At last I knew — I needed comradeship : 
 An eye to see the best In me, a voice 
 To call that best to being. Only once 
 Had such a friend been mine; I bent and 
 
 read 
 His name upon the picture : Atwood Brin- 
 
 ton! 
 
 Half an hour later I was being shown 
 Up a dark staircase, at the second door 
 I knocked, the door was opened, there he 
 
 stood ! 
 He eyed me, started, took me by the arm. 
 And turned me to the light, then looked 
 
 again. 
 ^Tes, by the Lord, it's Alden Carr!" 
 
 With that 
 He gripped my hand in both of his. Ten 
 
 years 
 Faded, and I who stood a head above him 
 Shrank to a boy; the tears were in my 
 
 eyes. 
 
 Rare were the days that followed, for 
 'tis rare 
 
 94 
 
SEA 
 
 After a ten years' gap that severed ties 
 Unite so promptly. Brinton, I soon 
 
 found, 
 Had overworked himself, was feeling 
 
 blue — 
 "Shop and sophistication," he once said; 
 "I need the tonic of a country face 
 For my complaint." We talked of life 
 
 and art 
 And books; he wondered that I'd read so 
 
 much. 
 "Some of my seed fell on good ground, I 
 
 hope; 
 It hasn't always been so." When I grew 
 More free with him I found at length a 
 
 chance 
 To show my "Song of Paris." "Not so 
 
 bad," 
 His comment was : "Been reading Swin- 
 burne, eh?" 
 My blush was answer. "No, not bad at 
 
 all, 
 For your small point of view. But mind, 
 
 young man, 
 
 95 
 
SEA AND BAY 
 
 YouVe only seen one phase, and note be- 
 sides 
 It's seldom all you see is all there is." 
 He took me round, and showed me other 
 
 sights : 
 The scientists, the cheerful family life. 
 The genuine artists — not the kind that 
 
 wear 
 Slouch hats, loose neckerchiefs and cordu- 
 roys; 
 But normal-looking citizens. We made 
 Excursions to the country, saw the folk 
 That Millet painted, visited chateaux, 
 All harmony and elegance. What cliffs 
 We found at Etretat, what glass at 
 
 Chartres, 
 What pretty woodland nooks at Fontaine- 
 
 bleau! 
 And everywhere I saw beneath the 
 
 scum, 
 Like a deep stream that runs through 
 
 stagnant pools. 
 The true French people, clean and pure 
 and strong. 
 
 96 
 
SEA 
 
 All this I owed to Brinton. Art and 
 
 life 
 Revealed their hidden treasures at his 
 
 word. 
 Much he had seen, and two rare traits of 
 
 soul 
 In him were blended: first, a love of life, 
 A sprightly, never-tamed enthusiasm; 
 And, hardly less, a firm judicial sense 
 Of Intellectual honesty. The two 
 Would often be at war, but for myself 
 I half despise a man whose ways are set 
 In a hard mould of self-complacency. 
 As mine had been too much. "Don't bind 
 
 your eyes 
 With prejudice and play at bllnd-man's- 
 
 bufi 
 Your whole life through," was Brinton's 
 
 favorite saw. 
 Why we got on so well I hardly know, 
 Except that I did feel within my heart 
 A longing for the truth, a willingness 
 To try to see. Whatever was the cause. 
 We chimed ; the years between his age and 
 
 mine 
 
 97 
 
SEA AND BAY 
 
 But made the concord sweeter. Then one 
 
 day 
 While rummaging through his pictures, 
 
 suddenly 
 Turning from an old canvas, Brinton 
 
 cried 
 "Let^s go to Italy !'^ That night we went. 
 
 We settled first at Florence. For a 
 
 while 
 My wits were at a loss; the city seemed 
 So fearfully run down, and half the 
 
 sights 
 Were hid in churches dismal as the grave, 
 Where images and Incense made me think 
 Of Idol-worship. Michelangelo, 
 However, took me prisoner at his will 
 With one high sovereign look; I needed 
 
 but 
 To see his David kindling with God's 
 
 rage- 
 Funny! that marble eyes can flash — the 
 
 while 
 He measured off the distance to his mark. 
 The forehead of Goliath. So I think 
 
 98 
 
SEA 
 
 We all should do: have temper in con- 
 trol, — 
 Heart like a boiler, head the engineer, — 
 And then the Medici tombs ! I never saw 
 The human body since without a leap 
 Of wonder in my pulse. — The other chaps 
 Were hard to know, but Brinton helped 
 
 me out. 
 "You don't like Giotto? Well I'd be sur- 
 prised 
 If you did like him at the start. But look ! 
 That fresco is the voice of a strong faith 
 Speaking the language of a child. His 
 
 faith 
 Is all he tried to give ; the lesser men 
 Can mouth big words or scatter flowers of 
 
 speech. 
 And Fra Angelico is much the same. 
 Just realize you're looking at a soul, 
 And you'll see right. Those pink and 
 
 gilded saints — 
 What are they? Why, the joy of holiness 
 Made visible — no lesser thing than that. 
 Art after all is just a sort of dress 
 99 
 
SEA AND BAY 
 
 For soul: sometimes too meagre, oftener 
 
 though 
 Too rich — observe that Titian! — or 
 
 again, 
 Fantastic — Botticelli ! There's a soul 
 Compact of subtle sweetness, but his garb 
 Is so outlandish that the average man 
 Thinks us all fools for bowing at his 
 
 shrine. 
 Perhaps the world, — nature and man 
 
 alike, — 
 Is but a manifold garment, as Carlyle 
 Is fond of putting it; and all our aim 
 Should be through all these forms to seek 
 
 the Soul 
 Which is in all and is all." 
 
 Every day 
 I learned to see art better, till at last 
 I chose my favorites: Raphael first of 
 
 course. 
 Supremely lovely and supremely great; 
 Tender Correggio, humanly divine; 
 Aerial Tintoretto. Why I chose 
 These three I scarce can tell — mere chance 
 
 maybe. 
 
 100 
 
SEA 
 
 In each of them I felt a special power, 
 Direct and elemental. 
 
 But although 
 Art loomed so big, It did not even then 
 Block the free view of nature. Best of 
 
 all 
 Our trip, I think, were the long walks we 
 
 took 
 In the enfolding sunlight. Oft we scanned 
 From high Flesole that scene of scenes : 
 The city girt with terraced orange 
 
 groves, 
 Giotto's white shaft, the Duomo's sombre 
 
 eye. 
 The palace-towers and steeples. But in 
 
 soul 
 We looked upon the cradle of the arts. 
 And Florence, the old nurse, her eyes 
 
 grown dim 
 With dreaming of her sons. — Then we 
 
 would turn 
 To view a modern phase, the countryside : 
 Its new-turned loam and dust-gray olive 
 
 trees, 
 
 lOI 
 
SEA AND BAY 
 
 The almond buds upturned like cool pink 
 flames 
 
 On branching candelabra ; over there 
 
 A yellow villa suavely Indolent 
 
 Mid cypress walks and rose-vines; close at 
 hand 
 
 A smooth white curve of road, a stone- 
 breaker 
 
 Who crouched in shade and cracked right 
 merrily 
 
 With his small hammer. Now a ponder- 
 ous team 
 
 Of milk-white oxen shouldered Into sight, 
 
 Red ribbons on their horns; the driver 
 wore 
 
 A crimson sash and flicked a raw-hide 
 whip. 
 
 A little further by a cottage door 
 
 A stolid beauty, grandly undisturbed, 
 
 Nursed her bambino. Next, around the 
 turn. 
 
 We'd find a group of idlers round an inn, 
 
 While to the sway of fiddle and of pipe 
 
 Slim youths took hands and waltzed. 
 
 102 
 
SEA 
 
 Ere long this life, 
 So pagan, free and bold, began to melt 
 My stock of narrow notions. I could see 
 Such ways were healthy, though they were 
 
 not mine. 
 And in the church or by the wayside cross 
 Was pure religion, credulous possibly, 
 But suited to the needs of simple hearts. 
 *'The world is all one country" — that's 
 
 the way 
 These kind Italians put it, and it's true. 
 Easy to read in books, but very hard 
 To grasp in fact — at least it was to me. 
 
 Rome we saw too and Venice, neither 
 
 though 
 Seemed half as genuine as Florence did. — 
 I haven't Byron's brain, far less his voice. 
 And ruins are to me just ruins. — But still 
 With Brinton's help I caught a glimpse 
 
 or two 
 Amid the jumbled chaos; this at least. 
 "Learn to see art and life as one," he 
 
 said. 
 And made me think it over. "Art is life 
 103 
 
SEA AND BAY 
 
 Seen by a master's eye. You don't see all, 
 But you see deeper. Art's the specialist 
 Who helps you look at life; and as for 
 
 life, 
 If you've not seen enough of life to feel 
 The life in art — best leave them both 
 
 alone 
 And live mechanically with the crowd." 
 
 Despite his flow of spirits I could see 
 That Brinton often grew depressed; no 
 
 doubt 
 The years weighed down his elasticity, 
 But with his stoicism in worldly things 
 He ought to accept the unavoidable, 
 I thought. One evening as the time drew 
 
 near 
 For our return, he spoke out: *'Alden, 
 
 lad, 
 I told you once not to tie up too soon. 
 Perhaps I was wrong, at any rate too soon 
 Is better than too late — or not at all. 
 I'm getting melancholy; all my life 
 I've drawn on my vitality — for art, 
 104 
 
SEA 
 
 For talk, for everything — and now my 
 
 balance 
 Is running short. A woman in your life 
 Gives back to you what you lavish on the 
 
 world, 
 And children show you that you shall not 
 
 die 
 Even on earth here. I have lived in you, 
 Alden, these last two months, and as we 
 
 part 
 The best advice I have is not to do 
 As I have done. Go back then to your 
 
 queen 
 Of curds and cream, your Hilda, marry 
 
 her 
 If things are still the same. If not, then 
 
 keep 
 Your weather eye open as you cruise 
 
 along." 
 
 My furlough finished, I rejoined my 
 ship 
 With treasure-freighted eyes and mind too 
 
 full 
 Of undigested wisdom, but my heart 
 105 
 
SEA AND BAY 
 
 Now knew a keener pang of loneliness 
 Than ever. Brinton's parting words sunk 
 
 deep ; — 
 I wanted more than friendship after all. 
 The thought of Hilda often starred my 
 
 dreams 
 With tender radiance, but my later self 
 Seemed large as Sindbad's genie. How 
 
 go back 
 Into that cramped bay-bottle and be 
 
 corked ? 
 I was a citizen of the world, forsooth ! 
 'Twas summer now; the season had come 
 
 round 
 When human birds of passage flock across 
 To Europe, and the thronging life on 
 
 board 
 Did but accent my blank of solitude. 
 The mischievous youngsters romping on 
 
 the deck 
 Woke memories of school-days, girlish 
 
 laughter 
 Came to me from some happy distant 
 
 world 
 
 io6 
 
SEA 
 
 That half belonged to me — I had read so 
 
 much 
 Of women and romance. With fierce 
 
 regret 
 I felt that I had shunned the life of men 
 To skulk in books, which, as at length I 
 
 knew. 
 Gave me but murmurs of a sea more 
 
 strange 
 Than my beloved ocean. I looked on 
 And longed to join, to mingle with the 
 
 whirl. 
 Be lost in it and lose my lonely self. 
 My spirit languished in its narrow bay 
 And longed to venture past the harbor 
 
 mouth 
 That shut me from the world of men out- 
 side. 
 
 Adventure to the young man's mind 
 spells woman. 
 Twas at New York I saw her come on 
 
 board. 
 Unknown till then, she touched the 
 memory 
 
 107 
 
SEA AND BAY 
 
 Of my first view of ocean. Tall she was, 
 
 Darkly majestic, falcon-eyed, her glance 
 
 Moulded of starlight mystery and soft 
 fire 
 
 Most like the moonless glow of tropic 
 seas. 
 
 She looked upon me idly, caught my 
 gaze, — 
 
 That instant I was hers, deep, deep sub- 
 merged 
 
 In the first glamour of those dangerous 
 eyes. 
 
 Their look was not like Hilda's, frank 
 and true 
 
 (The bay smile), but a storm-cloud, light- 
 ning-fringed. 
 
 My soul was sailing an enchanted gulf 
 
 Through labyrinths unknown and treach- 
 erous reefs. 
 
 While fragrant airs, from lotos islands 
 borne. 
 
 Stung the dull sense but steeped the wake- 
 ful mind 
 
 io8 
 
SEA 
 
 To slumber at the helm. — Such dreams as 
 
 this 
 Held me by daylight on a crowded deck. 
 The greater then her magic. She had 
 
 power 
 To waft her willing lover with a word 
 From commonplace to-day to lands of 
 
 wonder 
 In timeless regions, lands of desperate 
 
 deeds, 
 (The flame-wild impulses of lawless love 
 Which rend the robes of faith) — where 
 
 Helen mourned. 
 And cold Semiramis curled her scornful 
 
 lip. 
 Where Dido walked and proud-souled 
 
 Guinevere. 
 Such was our world and such was Rosa- 
 mund. 
 A woman with a past, the world might 
 
 say. 
 What then? The sea has witnessed many 
 
 a crime 
 Of love and blasting hate and fell revenge 
 109 
 
SEA AND BAY 
 
 Since Iseult paced the deck of Tristram's 
 
 ship 
 With murder in her heart for him she 
 
 loved. 
 
 One rants, no doubt, speaking of such a 
 
 time, 
 Where facts would seem but vulgar. All 
 
 I know 
 Is that for me, despite the taint of wrong. 
 Those moments had a draught of ecstasy 
 Not all debasing; I would not attempt 
 All that a bolder man had scorned to miss. 
 Her tyranny had bounds, but for the most 
 I was her plaything. In our secret nook 
 High up beneath the chill luxurious moon 
 How often would she tease me with her 
 
 lips 
 And taunt me with her domineering eyes 
 Because I dared not take, till spurred and 
 
 checked, 
 I yielded to her weakly, grovelingly, 
 Owning myself no match; whether she 
 
 willed 
 To keep me off, or with more mad caprice 
 no 
 
SEA 
 
 Leaned back Into my arms and closed her 
 
 eyes. 
 Her mastery was to me a noble trait. 
 Science she had to gauge the sudden thrill 
 Of leaping pulses, or to drug the soul 
 With anodynes and fierce Intoxicants. 
 All that she did, she did from love of 
 
 power; 
 An arbitrary whim would give the spark, 
 And straight her will would flame, her 
 
 changing moods 
 Were less from joy of mischief than 
 
 desire 
 To exercise her strength. We think the 
 
 sea 
 Malignant, but 'tis not so; quite by chance 
 Calm and typhoon alternate, each as true 
 A phase as other. Yet I feel the ocean 
 Has joy of being, joy of curbless power, 
 Whether It spare, destroy or cast adrift; 
 Our part to meet each mood with stead- 
 fast mind 
 And our best skill. — The passage of eight 
 
 days 
 
 III 
 
SEA AND BAY 
 
 Fled like a cloud, and Rosamund at the 
 
 last, 
 Deaf as the billow to a castaway. 
 Laughing — as well she might — to hear 
 
 my prayers 
 And idle talk of marriage, flung me off 
 Like so much seaweed on a barren shore. 
 
 Crippled in strength and driven from 
 my course, 
 
 I swung a long while helpless, soul-be- 
 calmed 
 
 In sluggish doldrums and sargasso seas. 
 
 Then, winning free, I veered with random 
 flaws 
 
 And dangerous currents; or, to put it 
 plain, 
 
 I worked without a purpose, gave myself 
 
 To rougher uses, joining with the rest 
 
 In drink and cards. I might have fallen 
 low 
 
 But for the stern New England self- 
 respect 
 
 Formed in my bay-life by my mother's 
 care, 
 
 112 
 
SEA 
 
 Jane's pride in me and Hilda's friendly 
 
 trust. 
 But even so, the fibre of my thought 
 Was coarsened and I listened now to tales 
 Of woman's moral ugliness. One of 
 
 these, 
 No doubt because I made the case my 
 
 own, 
 Obsessed me till I put it into verse. 
 
 Pedro's Plunge 
 
 The sky was a dazzling turquoise, 
 
 The sea was an amethyst, 
 And the palm-fringed shore of a Cuban 
 hay 
 
 By the westering light was kissed, — 
 
 When a steamboat came to anchor 
 In the curve of the hot white sand. 
 
 And a score of native boats put out. 
 By swarthy half-breeds manned. 
 
 Oh, some they would sell their luscious 
 fruit, 
 
 113 
 
SEA AND BAY 
 
 And some they would sing and play. 
 And some would dive for a copper coin 
 Flung into the waveless bay. 
 
 But one like a bronze Greek statue, 
 
 Disdaining so mean a prize, 
 Gazed up at a girl by the railing 
 
 With humble passionate eyes. 
 
 Then the calm of the scene was broken 
 By a shout from a dozen throats: 
 
 ''Shark! shark F* and the splashing swim- 
 mers 
 Were tumbled into the boaJs. 
 
 The girl looked out at the water, 
 No shark did her gaze discern, 
 
 She looked at the eager Pedro 
 And saw his dark eyes burn. 
 
 She held out a bright gold sovereign 
 With a gesture of proud command 
 
 And threw it out from the vessel 
 
 With a toss of her slim white hand, 
 114 
 
SEA 
 
 The blood of his Spanish fathers 
 Still pulsed in him hold and hot. 
 
 What is death for the smile of a woman? 
 And he dived like a plunging shot. — 
 
 He dived, and the winking gold-piece 
 Was clutched in his firm brown fist. 
 
 And he turned to strike for the surface 
 With a sudden, desperate twist. 
 
 The beautiful girl applauded 
 
 And leaned from her vantage-place 
 
 As he rose, but she saw no pleasure 
 In the look of his set sad face. 
 
 The water was cut between them 
 
 By a fin and a churning tail, 
 A streak of white gleamed deadly 
 bright. — 
 
 The girl shrank back from the rail 
 
 That instant the great shark got him 
 And made for its deep-sea home. 
 
 While vainly behind them shots rang out 
 And hissed in the scarlet foam. 
 115 
 
SEA AND BAY 
 
 Such bitterness was mine, nor was it 
 
 helped 
 By failure in promotion. Slowly then 
 My mind regained its vision till I saw 
 How opportunity had passed me by 
 While I was dawdling, so I took my chart 
 And got my bearings. — My old life was 
 
 gone. 
 Ambition and sheer youth no more suf- 
 ficed 
 To drive me. Rosamund's flame had 
 
 burnt away 
 That glad unpausing energy, and I asked: 
 Why should I slave more hard than other 
 
 men. 
 I could have worked for Rosamund, but 
 
 that hope 
 Had sunk forever, and I knew 'twas well. 
 Yet, as it seemed, my buoyancy no more 
 Sufficed to bear me up amid the crowd. 
 
 One day soon after as I strolled along 
 The level deck, a little girl ran out 
 And fell against me. Looking down, I 
 saw 
 
 ii6 
 
SEA 
 
 Blue eyes, part wonder and part merri- 
 ment, 
 Smile up with a pretty confidence that I 
 Like all the world was friendly. When I 
 
 paused, 
 A lady from a neighboring steamer-chair 
 Called out, "Come here directly, Dor- 
 othy! 
 Don't stop the officer." But I praised the 
 
 child 
 And begged to take her walking. After 
 
 that 
 I came each day; the father too I met. 
 I never hope to find a happier three 
 Than they were: Dorothy, some three 
 
 years old. 
 Gay as the sunlight on the dancing waves; 
 The mother quiet, kind and equable 
 Like Hilda, proud of all her daughter did, 
 But deprecating too much praise from me; 
 The father silent with a deep content 
 As one who had no more to ask of life. 
 They made a charmed circle, where the 
 world 
 
 117 
 
SEA AND BAY 
 
 Might not intrude Its busy selfishness. 
 At first I shared the habit of their joy 
 Which I so long had lacked, but when we 
 
 reached 
 New York, a grief that almost rose to fear 
 Possessed me, thinking that my life would 
 
 soon 
 Be lonelier by the contrast. I resolved 
 To seek the bay and Hilda, there to win 
 If possible a heaven of my own. 
 The ocean waves of life were rough, I 
 
 found. 
 Good for the buffets which a man should 
 
 bear, 
 But bitter, restless, void of pity. Now 
 The bay no more seemed narrow than the 
 
 nest 
 Seems narrow to the parent bird; and she, 
 Hilda as I had known her, seemed more 
 
 fair 
 Than any lady clad in gowns of silk. 
 I yearned to meet love where I had found 
 
 it first, 
 To cool my lips beside the pebbly spring 
 ii8 
 
SEA 
 
 That poured refreshment for my childish 
 need. 
 
 We passed the Statue and I said good- 
 bye 
 To my three friends, a blessing in my 
 
 heart 
 More earnest than my stammering speech 
 
 could show. 
 Returning to my cabin — such was fate ! — 
 I found a letter lying for me there 
 In Hilda's hand. I kissed and looked at it 
 Before I opened. After many months 
 Of silence, she my old-time love, to write 
 Ere I could come, beseech her to forgive 
 My long neglect, and ask her to be mine! 
 At last I opened, read: As we had been 
 Such friends, she took upon herself to 
 
 write 
 Instead of Phil. — Why did she drag in 
 
 him? — 
 To share with me at once the happy news 
 Of — was I drunk, or dreaming, or gone 
 mad? — 
 
 119 
 
SEA AND BAY 
 
 No, there it stood; the smoothly-flowing 
 
 style 
 Had swept me on a rock. Too late, too 
 
 late ! 
 She wrote that she was pledged to marry 
 
 —Phil! 
 I ground my teeth. That boy to cut me 
 
 out ! — 
 My bumpkin brother win the girl I loved I 
 
 Such was life's irony. It was hours 
 
 before 
 I tried to reconcile my shattered wits 
 With the hard truth. Then I grew 
 
 cynical ; 
 Young lady, since you take so poor a fish, 
 'Tis well that AldenCarr escaped your net. 
 Finally In self-torture I set out 
 To try if Hilda's purpose might not 
 
 change, 
 At least to see her. There she was, as 
 
 sweet 
 As ever, not much older, but more grave 
 With the solemnity of plighted love. 
 
 I20 
 
SEA 
 
 At first I acted strangely, but her way 
 Soon won me from all rudeness. More 
 
 than that, 
 Fair as she was, I felt that now our hearts 
 No more were kin, nor could I wish them 
 
 so. 
 I prized my sea-strength, lonely as I felt. 
 Seeing once more the snugness of the bay. 
 Phil was a man now; I could see his worth 
 And wish him well in his great happiness ; 
 But things were ordered otherwise for me. 
 No doubt Jane spoiled me, for she won- 
 dered so 
 At all my ways, half-foreign as they 
 
 seemed. 
 And what I had seen and done (much 
 
 magnified 
 By sisterly love) — in short I was for her 
 All she had ever hoped. Indeed she said 
 She long had given Hilda up for me. 
 Deciding I must bring some lady home 
 From foreign parts. Mother was also 
 
 kind, 
 Repressing half her usual discontent 
 And looking on me with a shade of awe. 
 
 121 
 
SEA AND BAY 
 
 I left them, but returned in two months' 
 
 time 
 To celebrate the wedding. Hilda looked 
 So lovely in her simple village dress 
 I hardly dared to kiss the lips of her 
 Who now should be my sister, not my 
 
 bride. 
 I shared the sober feast, shook hands with 
 
 Phil 
 And bade him godspeed in his new estate. 
 Then I was off again in double doubt: 
 Nor sea nor bay accorded with me now; 
 I knew no other counsel in my heart 
 Than to forge blindly on in stoic mood, 
 Half careless to what port my ship might 
 
 sail. 
 
 122 
 
PART III 
 BAY AND SEA 
 
Song of Bay and Sea 
 
 High on a ridge overlooking both the 
 strands 
 
 My cottage stands. 
 In front the restless sea; behind, the bay 
 
 Where quiet ripples play. 
 
 In storm I watch the billows as they 
 charge 
 
 The rock-piled marge, 
 Until tumultuous action's wine-like glee 
 
 Throbs wild and strong through me. 
 
 In calm I see the sunset's glimmering ray 
 
 Illume the bay, 
 And soft-hued joys of youth my vision 
 bless 
 
 With memory's loveliness. 
 
 Thus all of life comes back: my boyhood 
 first. 
 In visions nursed; 
 125 
 
SEA AND BAY 
 
 Then the hard fights amid the tempests 
 foam 
 On ventures far from home. 
 
 Therefore I pace the porch in calm con- 
 tent 
 For blessings blent, 
 And, thankful for the gifts which earth 
 has given, 
 Await the will of Heaven, 
 
 I'm fifty-five now as I stand and look 
 In retrospect across my two-fold life 
 Of bay and sea. I've won a moderate 
 
 place 
 And settled back Into a mild routine, 
 Not hoping for much more, but satisfied 
 To live my fullest life in those I love. — 
 I'm fifty-five, but when I reach the time 
 Of which I now shall write. Its fears and 
 
 joys. 
 The time between fades like a morning 
 
 fog 
 Before the ardor of remembered youth. 
 126 
 
BAY AND SEA 
 
 Once more across the broad Atlantic's 
 
 back, 
 But now with heart more leaden than the 
 
 clouds 
 That drifted o'er us in a gloomy shoal 
 Like ugly fish. My courage, long sus- 
 tained 
 By hurry and excitement, had died out 
 Within me, and I felt that I was sick. 
 Tired In body by the ceaseless round 
 Of unremitting duty, worn In mind 
 By danger and responsible command, 
 I now had naught to save me from myself, 
 No hope, no gay diversion. Thus it was 
 That fever took me. When we came to 
 
 France 
 The doctor thought it wise to put me off 
 At Cherbourg, where the hospital was 
 
 good 
 And I might ride the squall out with a 
 
 chance 
 Of quick recovery. It was well advised, 
 For I had six full weeks of sleepless 
 
 nights 
 And hot interminable days of pain. 
 127 
 
SEA AND BAY 
 
 The torturing thirst, the aching In my 
 
 head, 
 The blank routine of broth and bitter 
 
 draughts ! 
 How ready had I been to welcome death, 
 If but to break the loathsome chain of 
 
 hours 
 That bound me to the torment of my bed ! 
 At moments when the searing pain grew 
 
 dull, 
 My mind seemed somehow to detach itself 
 And, hovering off, to gaze with pity down 
 On the poor body, starved and sunken- 
 eyed. 
 I felt my soul might easily now take flight 
 To find the father whom I had not known. 
 In dreams like this I often seemed to lie 
 Beneath the pigeon-loft, hearing the coo 
 And flutter as I heard them when a child. 
 And feeling that I was not far from 
 
 heaven. 
 Though some may find It wrong, I had no 
 
 fear 
 Of death ; my faults were many, as I knew, 
 128 
 
BAY AND SEA 
 
 But God's strong love was round me, and 
 
 my trust 
 In His forgiveness left no room for doubt. 
 
 Meanwhile the busy nurses did their 
 best 
 To save me, and their gentle cooling 
 
 hands 
 Gave me continued comfort. They be- 
 longed 
 To some kind sisterhood; their dress and 
 
 ways 
 Were quiet, and their voices very calm. 
 They and the doctor saved me, keeping up 
 My spirit till with some faint hope of life 
 I swallowed what they gave me. For a 
 
 while 
 I was indifferent, but I liked a fight 
 Of any honest sort, and this was one : 
 Keeping my head above the tide of death. 
 Then followed better days, until one morn 
 Doctor La Grange came toward me with 
 
 a look 
 So cheerful and so quizzical that I knew 
 129 
 
SEA AND BAY 
 
 Some kindness was in store before he 
 
 said, 
 ^'Monsieur has gained so much in strength 
 
 of late 
 That I have brought a visitor. My 
 
 daughter 
 Has been so sorry for your pain, has felt 
 Such interest, that I thought you would not 
 
 mind 
 If she should see you on the road to 
 
 health." 
 I looked, and there, as timid and as sweet 
 As a white rosebud touched with bashful 
 
 pink. 
 She stood and smiled on me. The rising 
 
 tears 
 Lent crystal freshness to her wide gray 
 
 eyes, 
 As, leaning lightly toward me with an air 
 That breathed of fragrant modesty, she 
 
 gave 
 Her hand and tried to speak, and flushed 
 
 again. 
 But when the words came, they were firm 
 
 and clear: 
 
 130 
 
BAY AND SEA 
 
 "Poor Monsieur Carr-r," (how delicate 
 
 the r!) 
 ''Father has told me how you bore your 
 
 pain 
 So bravely — you so young and far from 
 
 home. 
 I feared so much, and now that you are 
 
 safe, 
 I wish that I might help, too — if I can. 
 Do you like flowers?" And there she 
 
 showed a bunch 
 Of rosebuds that might each have been 
 
 herself, 
 Had she become a flower, as well I 
 
 thought 
 She might have easily done. For me, I 
 
 gazed 
 Not on the gift but on the giver, for 
 When one is weak, the spirit speaks direct 
 Without confusion and without restraint. 
 My spirit said, "I never saw a child 
 So clad in simple loveliness as you, 
 So dainty and so natural, with an air 
 Of free refinement, winsome self-control — 
 A garden prettiness, as one might say, 
 131 
 
SEA AND BAY 
 
 With something finer than a woodland 
 
 flower, 
 Yet naught more studied." She divined 
 
 my look 
 But was not angry; — she had come to 
 
 please. 
 I took the roses, held them to my lips, 
 Managing it so quickly that I touched 
 The slender fingers, thanked her as I could 
 And tried to keep her longer. How she 
 
 smiled 
 With drooping lashes, promising to come 
 And visit me again ! I asked her name. 
 She told me "Seraphine." 
 
 From that day on 
 
 My strength rose like a tide. She called 
 each noon. 
 
 Sometimes she talked, sometimes she read 
 to me. 
 
 Or she would sing me graceful chanson- 
 nettes 
 
 With peasant melodies unvexed by art. 
 
 I wondered she could sing so, uncon- 
 strained 
 
 132 
 
BAY AND SEA 
 
 By all the other Invalids, who would stare 
 And envy me. Then she would always 
 
 say: 
 "It is not quite the place that one would 
 
 choose. 
 But what of that? — I sing to make you 
 
 well." 
 How fast I gained! The doctor used to 
 
 say: 
 "Ah ! that's the new prescription. Please 
 
 affirm 
 You never had a better cordial yet." 
 Soon I was able to be wheeled outside, 
 And oh the joy ! to drink the living air. 
 To drink the glowing earth, the shining 
 
 sky 
 Into my pain-parched being — best of all 
 To drink the sea, with eyes and ears and 
 
 lungs. 
 
 But wait, I go too fast ; I saw no sea 
 At first, but only drab and dingy walls. 
 This the kind doctor noticed. The next 
 day 
 
 133 
 
SEA AND BAY 
 
 Without so much as "by your leave" he 
 
 came, 
 Put me into a carriage, drove me off, 
 Dosing me well with brandy on the way. 
 And brought me to his cottage on the 
 
 cliffs. 
 Whence the blue ocean spread without a 
 
 break. 
 There was a doctor knew his trade, for 
 
 him 
 Not only Nature's drugs, but all her 
 
 powers 
 Were listed in the pharmacopoeia ! 
 Is it ungrateful in me that I speak 
 Of air and ocean first as having wrought 
 My perfect cure? I tell but as it was; 
 The lower nature must support the higher, 
 The body is the spirit's pedestal. 
 But the first effort of my fresh-won 
 
 strength 
 Was to turn head and heart toward Sera- 
 
 phine. 
 A nurse came with me from the hospital, 
 But Seraphine was by me half the day; 
 134 
 
BAY AND SEA 
 
 More charming in her home, more free to 
 
 show 
 The treasure of her nature — how the child 
 In her was but the virgin sheaf of petals 
 That wrapped a woman's passionate heart 
 
 within. 
 How sweet then to be helpless, have her 
 
 ask 
 If she should talk to me or read or sing. 
 Her sylph-like figure drifted through my 
 
 thoughts 
 As though to music, and I scarce could tell 
 Whether I slept or woke, my dreams of 
 
 her 
 Being so like, and her true self so fair. 
 Her face was haunted by an elf of joy, 
 Elusive, peeping from a dimple here, 
 Swinging invisible from a loosened curl. 
 Or laughing in the sparkle of her eye. 
 
 She listened to my stories of the sea 
 And told me of herself,— her mother's 
 
 death, 
 Her lessons at the convent, childish hopes 
 
 135 
 
SEA AND BAY 
 
 And maiden disappointments; for her 
 thought 
 
 Flowed unconstralnedly from a mind un- 
 spoiled. 
 
 While I think back, there floats Into my 
 sense 
 
 A quaint old fisher tune with peasant 
 words 
 
 Which Seraphlne would sing me as I lay 
 
 Out on the balcony, and the time drew 
 near 
 
 When I should climb back home across 
 the broad 
 
 Blue wall of water. This was how it ran: 
 
 Fisher Song 
 
 Wind that touches my lonely lips. 
 Bear me a kiss from him. 
 
 He is away with the fishing ships 
 Out in the distance dim. 
 
 Sigh, sigh, wind of the sea, 
 
 Bearing my sailor-hoy^ s kiss to me, 
 136 
 
BAY AND SEA 
 
 Wind that cries in the stormy dark, 
 
 Blow not so wild and free. 
 Steadily speed with my true-love's bark 
 
 Over the waves to me. 
 Speed, speed, wind of the sea, 
 Bearing my sailor-hoy hack to me. 
 
 The words are trite and bare, no doubt 
 
 the tune 
 Was homely too, but somehow when she 
 
 sang 
 A plaintiveness would steal into her voice 
 Till the soft tones would wreathe about 
 
 my heart 
 And bind it fast as in a net of flowers. 
 
 Each day as through my veins the 
 strength welled up, 
 There welled up ever higher in my breast 
 A love for Seraphine, a tenderness 
 For all her pretty ways, a sweet desire 
 For what her finer soul could give to mine; 
 Her instinct for the beautiful, her tact 
 In showing kindness (our New England 
 way 
 
 137 
 
SEA AND BAY 
 
 Makes of a gift a burden, but with her 
 A gently-spoken word upon the lips 
 Was natural as its perfume to the rose). 
 I needed things like this. I did not want 
 A lady for the cottage I should build, 
 But I did want that rarer sense of life 
 Which Brinton first had shown me, — the 
 
 expanse 
 Of wider sympathies and higher thoughts, 
 A strain of music for the intervals 
 When the life-loom should pause, a rising- 
 ground 
 Of discontent from which I could survey 
 My faults and then go down to drive them 
 
 out. 
 I thought this over. I had lost my rash 
 Plunge-on-the-impulse spirit, so that now 
 When love had come again, I knew the 
 
 heart 
 Should parley with the head ere both their 
 
 fates 
 Might be resolved on. And I thought 
 
 then too 
 For Seraphine. She was not in the way 
 
 138 
 
BAY AND SEA 
 
 To marry well. Her father — worthy 
 
 man! — 
 Had little save the stock of gratitude 
 That poor folk paid him, — treasure fit for 
 
 heaven, 
 But not a dower to tempt the second 
 
 thoughts 
 Of marriage-minded Frenchmen. I had 
 
 saved 
 A tidy little sum and had no fear 
 But we could get along. And yet I knew 
 ^Twas a big risk : 
 
 We waited, and one day 
 The love-rose blossomed. If you ask me 
 
 how, 
 I cannot say. A child of three years old 
 Knows when a bud has opened, and what 
 
 more 
 Is there to tell? When Seraphine and I, 
 Subtly constrained by Love, had yielded 
 
 up 
 Our inmost selves to serve at his com^ 
 
 mand, 
 
 139 
 
SEA AND BAY 
 
 It seemed his might had dwelt In us of 
 old; 
 
 Born In the dark, fostered by sun and dew, 
 
 Painfully working upward through the 
 earth 
 
 To air. Then recognizing more and more 
 
 The wonder of its being, it had grown 
 
 Toward the fulfillment — stalk and leaf 
 and bud. 
 
 At last when, urged by passion's deepen- 
 ing thrill. 
 
 The petals were unclosed, we found that 
 love 
 
 Was just the perfect flowering of our- 
 selves 
 
 Into a world of self-forgetfulness. 
 
 We seemed to breathe out fragrance not 
 our own, 
 
 Like censers in the dim-lit shrine of God. 
 
 For many a midnight Seraphine and I 
 Had searched our souls and left off still in 
 
 doubt 
 Of what to do. We met, our doubts dis- 
 solved 
 
 140 
 
BAY AND SEA 
 
 In the strong certainty of mutual love: 
 We could not live apart. From that time 
 
 on 
 All barriers were but details, and the 
 
 worst 
 Was telling the good doctor. Seraphine, 
 Though every glance gave token she was 
 
 mine, 
 Had made me promise not to seek from 
 
 her 
 My answer, till she had his firm consent. 
 Those were two anxious days; he had not 
 
 dreamed 
 The truth. How haggard was his humor- 
 ous face! 
 Yet never hard towards me. And when 
 
 he saw 
 How trying was the long suspense to her. 
 He promised to decide. He came to me, 
 Asked of my home and people, but before 
 I found my voice, consented, took my 
 
 hand 
 And prayed me to forgive him. He was 
 
 sure 
 
 141 
 
SEA AND BAY 
 
 Of me from the first, he said, but could 
 
 not bear 
 To lose his only child until he saw 
 That it must be so. Then he pulled me 
 
 down 
 And kissed me twice (on either side of 
 
 the nose) 
 For sign I was his son from that time 
 
 forth. 
 I nearly laughed, but loved him all the 
 
 more. 
 
 How rapt were we that evening ! Sera- 
 phine 
 And I deep-lost in silent happiness. 
 Living in dream-long glances, dream-long 
 
 sighs ; 
 The doctor, half amazed to see his girl 
 A woman, murmuring still his undersong 
 Of "Seraphine, the little Seraphine!" 
 Too brief the hours. Back, back once 
 more to life, 
 To win a fitting place for her I loved. 
 We parted, I exultant in the thought 
 142 
 
BAY AND SEA 
 
 That when I came again 'twould be to 
 
 claim 
 My bride. How short the intervening 
 
 weeks, 
 Filled with that vision, and again — how 
 
 long 
 For the impatient lover ! Poetry 
 Grew now a part of me. The pots and 
 
 pans 
 I purchased for our house (by Jane's 
 
 advice) 
 Were things of silver which the imagined 
 
 touch 
 Of her white hands had visibly trans- 
 formed. 
 What did I care that Mother used to say 
 In accents of distrust, "A foreign wife!" 
 What did I care though all the gossips 
 
 talked 
 Of ''Alden Carr's experiment" and hoped 
 (But most unhopefully) it would "turn 
 
 out well." 
 
 The time passed slowly, but it passed, 
 and then 
 
 143 
 
SEA AND BAY 
 
 I made my last trip as a bachelor, 
 
 And landed, with my heart and head and 
 
 eyes 
 All whirling different ways. I hardly 
 
 know 
 From that time till a full month afterward 
 Just where or who I was, but certainly 
 The day came round, we spoke the fateful 
 
 words, 
 And Atwood Brinton slapped me on the 
 
 back 
 With, "How does it feel to be a married 
 
 man?'^ 
 And drawing me aside, with earnest tones. 
 Whispered, "First rate! you've bettered 
 
 my advice." 
 Then came the wedding feast, the choked 
 
 farewell. 
 The bustle of embarking, and at last 
 We two alone upon the moving ship. 
 'Twas then I felt the meaning slowly dawn 
 Of what my lips had promised; and my 
 
 heart, 
 Dizzy with dreams, grew sober for the 
 
 day 
 
 144 
 
BAY AND SEA 
 
 Of duty. No, the honeymoon (so mis- 
 called) 
 Is not a halcyon holiday for a man 
 Who sees the sphinx-like future gaze on 
 
 him 
 Inscrutably. — And Seraphlne? Oh, she 
 Was happy as a child in a canoe 
 That floats along a flowery river-bank 
 Under the very bluest of June skies. 
 The more my care, then, to deserve her 
 trust. 
 
 The bay once more : Mother and Jane 
 and Phil 
 And all the others. I had bought a house 
 That stood beside the lighthouse on a 
 
 ledge 
 Commanding bay and sea alike. In front 
 It looked straight out against the sharp- 
 cut rim 
 Of the horizon; from the beach behind, 
 The bay ran inland, widening to the left 
 Where the old village lay. How bright it 
 looked 
 
 145 
 
SEA AND BAY 
 
 The morning we moved in! I felt, you 
 
 see, 
 I needed both — the ocean to inspire. 
 The bay to comfort; and for Seraphine, 
 Though steeped in quiet charm, she too 
 
 had moods 
 Of mystery and of daring, for her soul 
 Had kinship with all beauty, wild or still. 
 
 Is married life a paradise? Well, no. 
 No life on earth is that for long, I think. 
 To live in paradise one needs a love 
 For something out of reach, be it a girl, 
 Or fame, or flawless virtue, or the gleam 
 Of fleeting truth and beauty; only eyes 
 That dwell on heaven may shun the ills of 
 
 earth. 
 Find with imagination's telescope 
 Some far perfection for your paradise, 
 A planet dead these million million years ! 
 The artist does not paint ideal beauty. 
 Though he adores it; no, if he is wise 
 He paints a lovely face, a charming 
 
 scene, — 
 
 1^6 
 
BAY AND SEA 
 
 Good flesh and earth, but clad in purer 
 
 light. 
 'Tis so with woman; the "divine idea," 
 "The eternal feminine" is a beacon-ray 
 To guide us mid the waves of blind desire; 
 But bring it home, it will not cheer your 
 
 hearth. 
 The stars were meant to steer by, not to 
 
 warm. 
 The simple truth then is that paradise 
 Is in the sky — and we must live on earth. 
 
 And yet how can I write so, looking 
 
 down 
 As from a hill across the blooming fields 
 We traversed? Do I now recall the 
 
 thorns 
 That scratched us In that galaxy of 
 
 flowers, 
 Far, far too thick for memory's eyes to 
 
 count. 
 That spreads unbroken back to the fair 
 
 day 
 When first my home was hers? 'Twas 
 
 well, I think, 
 
 147 
 
SEA AND BAY 
 
 We made our way through thorns and 
 flowers alike, 
 
 Learning to know each other and our- 
 selves. 
 
 My foreign wife had tact and natural 
 
 grace, 
 Spoke English well, and in the true French 
 
 way 
 Was pleased with little things; a touch, a 
 
 glance, 
 A gay nasturtium vine, a song-sparrow's 
 
 note. 
 The outline of an elm, the delicate tint 
 Of rosy clouds reflected liquidly — 
 On these she lived. You will not find it 
 
 strange 
 Then that New England, only grim and 
 
 bleak 
 To casual eyes, had many a subtle way 
 To recompense her for the loss of France. 
 Like land, like people. When my mother 
 
 saw 
 How ever-thoughtful was the "foreign 
 
 wife," 
 
 148 
 
BAY AND SEA 
 
 She soon unbent. And as I had always 
 
 hoped, 
 My wife and Jane were sisters from the 
 
 start, 
 And never faltered, leaning each on each 
 And learning: Jane a wider view of life, 
 A cheerfuller code of duty; Seraphine 
 The true worth of our bay-folk, and a 
 
 host 
 Of household details. What a joy it was 
 To feel their harmony! My brother Phil 
 Broke out in admiration undisguised 
 At all she said and did: the dress she 
 
 wore. 
 So soft in hue, so simple in design, 
 That fell from throat to wrist so flow- 
 
 ingly, 
 So full of ease from shoulder to the poise 
 Of her light instep; or her voice a-thrill 
 With child-like happiness — at the merest 
 
 phrase 
 He'd start and turn in laughable surprise. 
 Just as a dog turns round when some one 
 
 sings. 
 
 149 
 
SEA AND BAY 
 
 He worshipped Hilda with a high respect 
 That could not waver, but from time to 
 
 time, 
 After our Sunday dinner as we sat 
 And smoked, he'd say, "I wonder why it Is 
 That Hilda's dresses look so angular. 
 She hasn't got the knack, I guess." Again, 
 "I like to hear a voice go up and down; 
 It makes you so you don't get tired." Of 
 
 course 
 I didn't need such little hints as these 
 To justify my choice, but still his words 
 Helped to support me in the firm belief 
 That bay-folks want a world outside their 
 
 own. 
 When they divine It. As to that wise 
 
 flock. 
 The village gossips, whom we had to meet. 
 They owned her manners were agreeable. 
 
 A hurried month was all that I could 
 spare 
 To found our little home. The bitterest 
 
 pang 
 I ever felt was leaving Seraphlne 
 ISO 
 
BAY AND SEA 
 
 To make her way alone in the new land, 
 While I returned to win our daily bread 
 By bitter wrestling with the bitter sea. 
 
 Ringed by an amphitheatre of blue, 
 I fought my gladiator fights. The dome, 
 So splendid and so various with the glow 
 Of wonder-dreams and proud realities. 
 Had narrowed to a cell, for Nature's face 
 Was loveless as a woman's that forgets. 
 While I had served her as a queen, nor 
 
 owned 
 Other allegiance. Lady Ocean smiled 
 With favor on her minion; but as soon 
 As I had formed a deeper, closer tie 
 With a young waiting-damsel of her court. 
 She paid my former service with disdain. 
 In youth beside the bay my hopes had 
 
 flown 
 Far out to sea, but now upon the sea 
 My hopes were ever winging toward the 
 
 bay. 
 
 I lived on letters. 'Twas a new delight 
 To see my bay pictured in those fond eyes 
 151 
 
SEA AND BAY 
 
 That looked upon me as I read, to drink 
 The scene I knew in the swift- welling 
 
 words 
 That overflowed the lips of Seraphine. 
 For as she spoke she wrote, the very tones 
 Of each inflection quaintly Gallicized, 
 The little trips in grammar like the steps 
 Of girls that dance among the swaying 
 
 grass 
 For mere delight, forgetting all the rules 
 Of indoor dancing-school — each grace, 
 
 each fault 
 (As purists might have said) came skip- 
 ping in 
 Like round-a-rosy through the crowded 
 
 page. 
 So I lived on a whole long year, the while 
 I could but peep into the enshrining bay. 
 Twice precious with its jewel. 
 
 When at last 
 My furlough came again, I found that all 
 Had not gone well. Poor little Seraphine ! 
 The bay-folk had no gentleness, no love 
 Of beauty, not a thought beyond them- 
 selves 
 
 152 
 
BAY AND SEA 
 
 And their small neighborhood, no sym- 
 pathy 
 Even for what they saw ; their round of 
 
 life 
 Knew not a gleam of joy. Yes, Jane was 
 
 kind, 
 But oh so practical ! so much she found 
 To do, so little time she left for play. ^ 
 "She made me buy some chickens" (this, 
 
 it seemed. 
 Had been a crucial point), **and they get 
 
 out 
 And spoil my flowers." I had to smile at 
 
 that, 
 Thinking of Jane's New England thrifti- 
 
 ness, 
 And Seraphine so anxious to do right 
 And save for me, yet feeUng in her heart 
 A desperate anger at the silly fowls 
 That scratched among her dahlias. 
 
 Then, poor Phil, 
 Trying to cheer my lonely wife, had roused 
 In Hilda's breast an imp of jealousy. 
 Who, half ashamed to show his ugly head, 
 153 
 
SEA AND BAY 
 
 Made trouble none the less. Hilda had 
 
 marked 
 A charm, a sympathy in Seraphine 
 She could not understand. (She told me 
 
 this 
 Herself in better days.) She saw that Phil 
 Responded, for he did most guilelessly. 
 She could not see then that this charm was 
 
 but 
 The happy radiance of a happy soul. — 
 Well, I've forgiven her now, but many a 
 
 time 
 It maddened me to watch how Hilda froze 
 Each little harmless burst of merriment. 
 Much as a grim bright day of early March 
 Might chill a shrinking snow-drop. 
 
 Mother too. 
 When told, kept on repeating helplessly: 
 "She doesn't like our ways; I ain't sur- 
 prised." 
 I wasn't either. Well, but — what to do? 
 
 "There's no one I can sing to when you 
 go," 
 
 154 
 
BAY AND SEA 
 
 Sighed Seraphlne one evening. There I 
 took 
 
 The cue: why shouldn't she give lessons 
 here ? 
 
 We tried, and soon found pupils of the 
 best: 
 
 Squire Ogden's niece, and Doctor Well- 
 man's wife, 
 
 And Nora Gray, who'd been to school in 
 town. 
 
 They liked our cosy house, admired the 
 view . 
 
 And Brinton's picture, our best wedding 
 gift; 
 
 But most of all they took to Seraphlne, 
 
 Invited her to tea, or both of us 
 
 To dinner, where we saw a different set 
 
 That talked of other things than cows and 
 crops 
 
 And neighbors' ailments. Then my moth- 
 er's friends 
 
 Began to hint we thought ourselves too 
 good 
 
 For their society; but It was not so, 
 155 
 
SEA AND BAY 
 
 'Twas but that Seraphine had felt the call 
 Of like to like. 
 
 I went off more at ease 
 About our future, still my mind was fixed 
 That somehow I had got to find a way 
 To live at home. You see, before I left, 
 My wife had whispered something in the 
 
 dark — 
 Just an idea, a hope, and after that 
 I couldn't bear to think, if children came, 
 That Seraphine must be there all alone, 
 And they grow up scarce knowing me by 
 
 sight; 
 It would be wicked, that was how I felt. 
 When a determination takes deep root, 
 It mostly grows, unless the soil is bad. 
 From a small boy, I'd always had a craze 
 For lighthouses, and so in foreign lands 
 I'd noticed where they were built, and how 
 
 and why, 
 And talked about them. Now I gathered 
 
 up 
 All I could find and wrote a sort of book, 
 Telling the risks and dangers of the life, 
 
 156 
 
BAY AND SEA 
 
 And showing how along the New England 
 
 coast 
 Things might be better. What should 
 
 come of this 
 But I was sent for down at Washington 
 To talk to a committee? After that 
 I took six months to study up a bit, 
 Passed an examination and became — 
 Lighthouse Inspector, which I have been 
 
 by now 
 These twenty years. I got a route near 
 
 home 
 So I could live there nearly all the time. 
 Making my rounds and writing my re- 
 ports. 
 
 Some years it took to see the whole 
 
 thing through. 
 And in the first our daughter Jane was 
 
 born. 
 While I was on the ocean. What a jump 
 I gave when I got the news! I pinched 
 
 myself. 
 Sat down, stood up, grinned like a fool no 
 
 doubt ; — 
 
 157 
 
SEA AND BAY 
 
 It seemed so unaccountable to think 
 That I was a father. But in ten days more 
 I held her in my arms, the odd pink mite 
 That was to be a woman, if God willed, 
 And live her life, have children in her turn, 
 A link in the great chain. Most wonderful 
 And solemn! When I knelt beside the 
 
 crib 
 And prayed, 'twas hardly more in grati- 
 tude 
 Than to ask help and strength for what 
 
 should come. — 
 In all the greatest moments of our life 
 It's not the present that concerns us most, 
 But what's to follow. That's the way with 
 
 birth. 
 With marriage and with work. Why not 
 
 with death? 
 Is that to be the only great event 
 That points no farther, a sheer precipice 
 Where all our hopes dash down and dis- 
 appear? 
 I can't believe it. — How my mind runs off 
 To sudden thoughts like these! They 
 come themselves, 
 iS8 
 
BAY AND SEA 
 
 As I get older, when T walk alone, — 
 Often refreshing, always comforting; 
 Which makes me think they're wafted to 
 
 our hearts 
 By grace divine from some far lands of 
 
 truth. 
 
 Never had I so worshipped Seraphlne 
 As then I did, sharing her deeper joy 
 In our great blessing. What a softened 
 
 light 
 Haloed her resting head! her eyes how 
 
 deep ! 
 Her grace how like an angel's ! as she lay 
 And with a weak but never-weary arm 
 Pillowed the little one. — The world Is bad. 
 The world Is harsh, but never was the time 
 That men could look unmoved at such a 
 
 scene. 
 What holler sign to keep our nature pure 
 Than such a picture? Are we In the right, 
 We Protestants, to keep It out of church? 
 
 WeVe sailed on steadily from that fair 
 time, 
 
 159 
 
SEA AND BAY 
 
 My little wife and I. More children 
 
 came: 
 A boy, a girl, and last, another boy. 
 Our house is larger and our hearts as well, 
 I hope, though none of our new friends can 
 
 fill 
 The place that Brinton held. Of all the 
 
 shocks 
 That broke our quiet progress none has 
 
 struck 
 So hard as did the news that he'd gone 
 
 down 
 Alone and far away. A gallant soul ! 
 True to his kind, to Nature and to God. 
 Without his help I never could have been 
 The half of my best self, 'twas he that 
 
 found 
 What no one knew was there, I least of 
 
 all. 
 Sometimes I've stood off to admire the job 
 That Brinton made of me, for 'twas his 
 
 word 
 That drove me forth to seek a larger 
 
 world, 
 
 1 60 
 
BAY AND SEA 
 
 And seeking find myself; his wisdom 
 
 showed 
 My faults and made me strive to weed 
 
 them out, 
 And bring to fruit the hidden seeds of 
 
 good. 
 I'm glad I never can be satisfied 
 With settling back, I'm thankful that my 
 
 boys 
 Will have a better start than I could get, 
 I'm glad that in a life of steady work 
 There has been time for beauty, room for 
 
 And tolerance, too, for men of other 
 
 moulds. 
 All this is Atwood Brinton, he himself, 
 Not Alden Carr at all, as any one 
 Can see. His vital spirit in my veins 
 Is pulsing ever, and that's why perhaps 
 I love him better while I miss him less. 
 
 Work that is cheery as the morning 
 breeze. 
 Rest that is tranquil as the evening sky, 
 A wife he loves, and children growing up 
 i6i 
 
SEA AND BAY 
 
 Around them, time for nature and for 
 friends ; 
 
 These and the sense of something yet un- 
 known — 
 
 A world of thought he can but half divine, 
 
 A realm of beauty he but dimly sees — 
 
 All these must blend, I think, to make the 
 life 
 
 That brings one nearest to the heart of 
 things. 
 
 A man who toils with blind, impatient 
 strength 
 
 Will waste himself, and one who only 
 dreams 
 
 Will feel his sinews fail in time of stress. 
 
 I haven't done much, and I haven't been, 
 
 Heaven knows, half equal to my happi- 
 ness: 
 
 But what I've done, I've done from aiming 
 high 
 
 And getting strength in rest and solitude; 
 
 And what I've been, I've been through 
 honest work 
 
 To make my dreams come true. That's 
 why I say: 
 
 162 
 
BAY AND SEA 
 Blest is the man who can both do and be. 
 
 From thirty-five one's course don't alter 
 
 much. 
 Landmarks there were. Twice we went 
 
 back to France 
 To visit the old doctor, — hearty still, 
 He writes us, though he has not ventured 
 
 yet 
 To cross in turn and see us in our home. 
 And Mother died. Our greatest grief was 
 
 then 
 That no true sorrow came. We scarce 
 
 had known 
 A word of love to leave her querulous lips. 
 Life had been hard for her, she had done 
 
 her best. 
 But always grudgingly; our gratitude 
 We paid with lavish words — but not a 
 
 tear. 
 She had not looked above the vexing 
 
 swarms 
 Of household troubles, even toward the 
 
 end, 
 
 163 
 
SEA AND BAY 
 
 When Phil and I had made things easy. 
 
 No, 
 She had not planted love and might not 
 
 reap. 
 
 The children grew and thrived and went 
 to school 
 As other children do. No one would care 
 To read the record of their words and 
 
 deeds, — 
 Their grand achievements, their un- 
 equalled wit! — 
 Which, like tradition, Seraphine and I 
 Still hold in our remembrance, to be lost 
 No doubt as all such records needs must 
 
 be. 
 And yet these Lesser Iliads that are sung 
 Each day by baby lips to loving hearts. 
 These epics of the Isle of Lilliput, — 
 How often has their murmur soothed our 
 
 cares 
 With soft T^olian lisp? Their gleams of 
 
 joy 
 A^nd fairy fancy, little flowers of trust. 
 The freely-pouring stream of love for all, 
 164 
 
BAY AND SEA 
 
 And the strange vision of our purest hopes 
 Flitting like butterflies in childish forms — 
 What fabled realm of heroes or of saints 
 Has raised us more above our baser selves 
 Than childhood's land of truth and inno- 
 cence ? 
 
 My work? At first my way was sharp 
 and strict, 
 A cold, relentless hunting out of faults. 
 But soon I learned to take things differ- 
 ently : 
 To test the very nature of a man, 
 His pride and sense of duty; these assured. 
 To overlook a trivial slip or two. 
 A lighthouse man who never once forgets 
 That lives depend upon a fog-horn's blast. 
 And ships upon the timing of a flash, — 
 He is the man I look for. Now I search 
 An eye more keenly than a term report. 
 Result, I'm better liked and more obeyed. 
 
 But, when all's said, there's really not 
 much chance 
 
 i6s 
 
SEA AND BAY 
 
 To be one's self in work, where all men 
 
 don 
 Their uniforms of office and are merged 
 Into the solid army of their kind ; 
 The truer moments come when each is free 
 To follow his own path. And this is mine: 
 To live a man where once I lived a boy, 
 Beside the bay, and yet with eager soul 
 To taste the sea's wild tang. I love my 
 
 wife 
 No less because, with all her hearthside 
 
 calm, 
 She has not lost through age and sordid 
 
 cares 
 The spice of foreign sweetness, like a 
 
 breath 
 Of the south wind that creeps on sultry 
 
 days 
 Across the morning blueness of the sea. 
 Breaking the placid mirror into smiles 
 Innumerable. — How often do I stand 
 Out on the cliff there by the lighthouse 
 
 tower 
 To see and feel and breathe it! Oh I've 
 
 tried 
 
 1 66 
 
BAY AND SEA 
 
 A dozen times to keep the thoughts that 
 
 come, 
 But there's a mingling feel of fresh and 
 
 smooth 
 I've never caught. My best was only this : 
 
 A Sea Wind from the South 
 
 I 
 
 In the noontide heat the gray cliffs tremble, 
 
 Unsure of shape; 
 Their bulks an anchored fleet resemble, 
 
 Ranged cape on cape. 
 The still wave glints with steely tints, 
 
 Yon sail hangs slack, 
 While the smoke climbs high to a dazzling 
 sky 
 
 From a steame/s stack, 
 
 • ••••• 
 
 But now my glance 
 
 Perceives across that shining broad ex- 
 panse 
 A quickening breath 
 
 167 
 
SEA AND BAY 
 
 That breaks the languorous reign of mid- 
 day death. 
 
 For the dusk of the south wind^s promise 
 
 Creeps landward steadily, 
 I can feel beforehand the well-known touch 
 
 Of its magic sympathy; 
 Sweet from the smile of the indolent 
 south, 
 
 Cool with the balm of the sea — 
 Strong from the rays of the passionate 
 south, 
 
 Clean with the salt of the sea. 
 
 II 
 
 // comes, and the lazy smoke of the 
 steamer 
 
 Is wafted back; 
 It fills the sail and flutters the streamer 
 
 Of the fishing-smack. 
 More near, more near! At last 'tis here, 
 
 Like a longed-for bride. 
 The sense it enfolds and the heart it holds 
 
 In its rushing tide. 
 
 i68 
 
BAY AND SEA 
 
 E'en so each day 
 
 The wind of love breathes in upon my bay, 
 
 Steady and sure, 
 
 As gentle as the south wind and as pure. 
 
 For the low light voice of a woman 
 
 And the touch of her hands to me 
 Have the nearness and the remoteness 
 
 Of the wind with its mystery; 
 Rich as the glow of the opulent south, 
 
 Fresh as the virgin sea — 
 Vague with the charm of the dreamy 
 south, 
 
 Soft with the kiss of the sea. 
 
 One's later life is less a broken surge 
 Of acts that foam and follow each on each 
 Than a wide calm of being. Time glides 
 
 on 
 Above us like a tranquil afternoon 
 With shifting lights and shadows, but on 
 
 us 
 The colors flow together as the greens 
 And purples just beyond the outer bar. 
 169 
 
SEA AND BAY 
 
 'TIs well, for mid the fretful waves of 
 
 youth, 
 Through which we are tossed from hour 
 
 to restless hour, 
 We lose all thought of things that do not 
 
 change : 
 Of truth and beauty, of the soul and God. 
 Fighting amid the breakers we forget 
 That there above the storm the sky is blue. 
 But now the soul, sense-weary, passion- 
 freed. 
 Seeks like a thirsty child the Well of 
 
 Life- 
 Love, the divine, the all-pervading Soul 
 That dwells in man and Nature, and that 
 
 speaks 
 To mortal hearts in symbols: With a 
 
 flower. 
 To show us how the tiniest form reflects 
 The perfect whole of beauty ; with a star, 
 A sunset on the sea, to thrill us deep 
 With joy, with splendid sadness and with 
 
 awe. 
 But more than these the willing sacrifice 
 Of man for men uplifts us, till at last 
 170 
 
BAY AND SEA 
 
 We half attain to see that holler Love 
 Nailed to the Cross, forgiving them that 
 slay. 
 
 There's few things harder than to note 
 
 the wrongs 
 Of earth and feel how powerless are we, 
 Save now and then a hero or a saint. 
 To right them. When a man in his own 
 
 strength 
 Attempts it, can we wonder if he ends 
 In desperation? Most of us, it seems. 
 Can do no more than trust, and say our 
 
 prayers, 
 And do our daily tasks. No human back 
 Can bear the weight of the world's misery. 
 We stumble even with the smallest loads. 
 Trying to act an honest, useful part 
 On a town council or a parish board. 
 It's queer a man can hardly do just right 
 One single hour. Another thing that's 
 
 hard 
 Is choosing between duties : town or sons. 
 Wife or profession? But as years roll on, 
 171 
 
SEA AND BAY 
 
 I've come to spend my extra hours at 
 
 home, 
 Where I'm best known, most loved, can 
 
 do most good. 
 And if I'm happiest there — well, joy's no 
 
 sin. 
 
 Jane's twenty-two now, with her moth- 
 er's grace 
 And love for music; Brinton's coming on 
 At school — he'll go to Harvard in good 
 
 time, 
 I hope — ; and then there's Margery and 
 
 Phil: 
 A good full nest of us! When supper's 
 
 done, 
 Before the hour for lessons we all join 
 In music. First the children take their 
 
 turns, 
 And lastly mother sings her simplest 
 
 songs, 
 The wistful little peasant songs of France 
 That no one ever tires of. Aunty Jane 
 Has mostly happened in by then. She's 
 
 stayed 
 
 172 
 
BAY AND SEA 
 
 Unmarried, — rather proud of It, I think; 
 She's had a-many chances to be sure. 
 The children go to lessons, and we three 
 Settle back cosily before the fire 
 To talk things over. When the clock 
 
 strikes eight, 
 I see Jane home to Phil's house — the big 
 
 farm 
 He bought last year — and stroll a bit to 
 
 watch 
 The moonlight on the ocean's heaving 
 
 breast. 
 Or on the other side the steady lamps 
 That glow upon the black unrlppling bay. 
 
 I drop more often Into scribbling verse 
 These days, especially In the summer time 
 When I've a rest between Inspection trips. 
 I sit here on the porch and look, and look 
 Across the bay, until my prisoned thoughts 
 Escape into the aether, and there comes 
 A sense of kinship with the things I see, 
 As Nature draws me closer to her breast, 
 Whispering me of things I cannot tell 
 Even to Seraphlne. You know those days 
 173 
 
SEA AND BAY 
 
 In August when the faint-winged breeze 
 
 holds off 
 Till afternoon? I tried once to infuse 
 The breath of that elusive breathlessness 
 Into a song called "Noondde Ecstasy." 
 
 Noontide Ecstasy 
 
 White sails, white sails, o'er the hay that 
 shimmer, 
 Softly enfolded in warm noon light. 
 Your vague reflection, growing ever dim- 
 mer, 
 Lures across the ripples my spell-hound 
 sight. 
 
 White clouds, white clouds, poised in lofty 
 station. 
 Purer, subtler is the charm you wear; 
 Far though you be, my fond imagination 
 Breathes the enchantment of your 
 dream-heights rare. 
 
 White thoughts, white thoughts, o'er the 
 world that hover, 
 174 
 
BAY AND SEA 
 
 Vision that melts in bright far blue, 
 Fair as the form of maiden lo her lover, 
 Draw with tranquil beauty my longing 
 soul to you. 
 
 Fm not a poet, but I somehow think 
 There's poetry in the soul of every man, 
 If only he knew how to get it out. 
 It stands to reason people feel alike, 
 And every one is happier when he finds 
 The thoughts he loved but hardly dared to 
 
 trust 
 Set boldly on the page. To write one's 
 
 best, 
 Besides, is more than half to be one's best. 
 Something I wrote once, when the heavens 
 
 were clear 
 And every mote of star-dust shone dis- 
 tinct 
 Along the purple highroad of the night. 
 That gave me pleasure. Twas a curious 
 
 thought. 
 But, as it seemed, a true thought none the 
 less. 
 
 175 
 
SEA AND BAY 
 
 Starlight Meditation 
 
 Fair are the stars! yon scattered silvery 
 swarm 
 Caught in the wide untremhling web of 
 night f 
 That through the pearly dimness faint and 
 warm 
 Shed upon wave and shore their efflu- 
 ence bright. 
 
 Fair are the lights! whatever each may 
 he: 
 Gay colored motes that hack and for- 
 ward roam, 
 Or dull ship-lanterns burning fixedly, 
 White street lights and the yellow lamps 
 of home. 
 
 Nature and modern man have wrought the 
 scene. 
 We think their ways discordant. 
 Wherefore so? 
 Is the stars' radiance, pallid and serene, 
 176 
 
BAY AND SEA 
 
 Marred by the mirrored lamplight's 
 holder glow? 
 
 Nay, for they blend to form a perfect 
 
 whole, 
 A unity of beauty in the soul. 
 
 But here I'm maundering, maundering, 
 
 with no more 
 To tell, and very little else to say. 
 These last few words shall finish. — I have 
 
 lost 
 My strong New England accent, what with 
 
 books. 
 Talking with Seraphine, and seeing much 
 Of outside folks ; but always at the heart 
 I'm loyal to my breeding. Brinton said 
 No country was as beautiful as this. 
 Which makes me bold to say it after him. 
 I love it in the large and in the small : 
 The broad, low-outlined hills; the bay, 
 
 a-swim 
 With purest color, every island shape 
 Of gauntness half concealed by straggling 
 
 pines. 
 
 177 
 
SEA AND BAY 
 
 I love each separate curve of sandy shore, 
 Each grove and simple farmhouse, every 
 
 field 
 And wall and bush and stone and blade of 
 
 grass. 
 Early remembrance now has grown more 
 
 sweet 
 From walks with Seraphine, whose 
 
 thoughtful eyes 
 Look so much deeper into all they see. 
 I love the cliffs, battered and torn and 
 
 cleft, 
 But rising from the ocean with stern joy. 
 As still they fling the spent and shattered 
 
 waves 
 Back from the foaming rampart. And I 
 
 love 
 The gullies where the stalwart blackfish 
 
 hide ; 
 No fun more keen than casting through 
 
 the surf 
 And reeling in the big ones, while the 
 
 spray 
 Strums with rude fingers on the tautened 
 
 line — 
 
 178 
 
BAY AND SEA 
 
 (IVe a queer picture by a Japanese 
 
 That shows a great wave rearing up and 
 up 
 
 Just like a dragon with his claws out- 
 spread.) 
 
 Then the clean beaches with their speckled 
 sand, 
 
 Their moist round pebbles and the flutter- 
 ing strips 
 
 Of quaintly ruffled sea-weed! 
 
 Ah, the folks 
 
 That come in June admire the things they 
 see. 
 
 But they've not known the splendor of the 
 fall, 
 
 And the bleak winter gales that sift the 
 soul 
 
 And nerve the heart like danger — those 
 are days 
 
 That make us glad of springtime when it 
 comes. 
 
 Such is New England, such the little bay 
 
 For which I've left the wide and stormy 
 world. 
 
 But still within my being runs the throb 
 179 
 
SEA AND BAY 
 
 Of memories beating from that larger life 
 Like breakers from the ocean— how they 
 
 stir 
 With unforgotten joys of former years! 
 All the more cosy is my sheltered bay 
 When the vast surge is roaring. Thus I 
 
 live 
 Half in the present, half in memory's 
 
 world ; 
 So that at last within me bay and sea, 
 My peaceful boyhood and my stormy 
 
 prime, 
 Unite their warring natures and are one. 
 
 i8o 
 
ENVOI 
 
 'Tis autumn, and my reminiscent dreams 
 Have drifted down the late September sky. 
 The towering billows of the equinox 
 Have burst and foamed and sunk, till now 
 
 the sea 
 Is quiet and the air Is sharp and clear. 
 'TIs time then you and I should say fare- 
 well 
 And follow each his fortunes as before, 
 Eddying amid the whirl of things we call 
 Reality. 
 
 So, each apart, we sail 
 From out our little bay of poetry 
 (Which, although bare and narrow, yet 
 
 was home) 
 Into the strange bewildering sea of fact 
 That trebly tests our moral seamanship, 
 Sweeping us from the sheltering port of 
 
 faith 
 
 i8i 
 
SEA AND BAY 
 
 And threatening still to swallow up the 
 soul. 
 
 Suppose, too, that the whole of life on 
 
 earth 
 Is but a bay from which we must put forth 
 Into the ocean of eternity. — 
 The thought is lonely. May we never 
 
 hope 
 That from yon wide, inhospitable void 
 We shall win back into the life we knew. 
 Shall find once more the bay of human 
 
 love, — 
 Blest with diviner beauty, but the same 
 To our transfigured hearts? — It hardly 
 
 seems 
 That Heaven could be Heaven unless 
 
 'twere so. 
 
 FINIS 
 
 182