Page:Pieces People Ask For.djvu/150

32 Quivering on tiptoe there,
 * I spy at the world without,

And wearily scan that blue sea-bay,
 * Where the white sails glide about.

I gaze, till my hot eyes ache
 * With the changeful, flashing light:

That billowy blue, so terribly blue;
 * That white, so intensely white!

And I step from my trembling hold
 * Down on the loathsome floor;

Then bruised, half-blinded, and sick,
 * I climb, and gaze once more.

Out of this fearful dun-light,—
 * Darkness "made visible,"—

I gaze on the summer sunlight
 * Which never visits my cell,—

Out on yon summer-glory
 * Flooding the golden sand;

And I sigh for the distant freedom:
 * I weep for my far-off land!

So I cling to the bars, and wonder
 * If my lot will ever be

To float in that skifflet yonder,
 * Home o'er that tempting sea.

Oh! I loathe the foreign banner,
 * With its fluttering, flaunting brag;

And my soul is sad and weary,
 * Heart-sick for the dear old flag!

Oh! could I loose from her moorings,
 * Could I reach yon tiny boat,

With what glad, wild heart-boundings,
 * Away, away I'd float!

But the sunbeams lie still and burning,
 * On ocean and on land,

While scarce by one breezy flutter
 * Is my burning forehead fanned.