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 There's tempest in yon horned moon,

And lightning in yon cloud; But hark the music, mariners !

The wind is piping loud; The wind is piping loud, my boys,

The lightning flashes free While the hollow oak our palace is,

Our heritage the sea.

Cunningham.

LXXI A SONG OF THE SEA

THE Sea ! the Sea ! the open Sea !

The blue, the fresh, the ever free !

Without a mark, without a bound,

It runneth the earth's wide regions 'round;

It plays with the clouds; it mocks the skies;

Or like a cradled creature lies.

I'm on the Sea! I'm on the Sea!

I am where I would ever be;

With the blue above, and the blue below,

And silence wheresoe'er I go;

If a storm should come and awake the deep,

What matter? /shall ride and sleep.

I love (O ! how I love) to ride On the fierce foaming bursting tide, When every mad wave drowns the moon, Or whistles aloft his tempest tune, And tells how goeth the world below, And why the south-west blasts do blow.

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