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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=420829" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>The Wreck Of Rivermouth</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">Rivermouth Rocks are fair to see,<br>By dawn or sunset shone across,<br>When the ebb of the sea has left them free,<br>To dry their fringes of gold-green moss<br>For there the river comes winding down,<br>From salt sea-meadows and uplands brown,<br>And waves on the outer rocks afoam<br>Shout to its waters, 'Welcome home!'</div><div style="margin:10px 0">And fair are the sunny isles in view<br>East of the grisly Head of the Boar,<br>And Agamenticus lifts its blue<br>Disk of a cloud the woodlands o'er;<br>And southerly, when the tide is down,<br>'Twixt white sea-waves and sand-hills brown,<br>The beach-birds dance and the gray gulls wheel<br>Over a floor of burnished steel.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Once, in the old Colonial days,<br>Two hundred years ago and more,<br>A boat sailed down through the winding ways<br>Of Hampton River to that low shore,<br>Full of a goodly company<br>Sailing out on the summer sea,<br>Veering to catch the land-breeze light,<br>With the Boar to left and the Rocks to right.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">In Hampton meadows, where mowers laid<br>Their scythes to the swaths of salted grass,<br>'Ah, well-a-day! our hay must be made!'<br>A young man sighed, who saw them pass.<br>Loud laughed his fellows to see him stand<br>Whetting his scythe with a listless hand,<br>Hearing a voice in a far-off song,<br>Watching a white hand beckoning long.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">'Fie on the witch!' cried a merry girl,<br>As they rounded the point where Goody Cole<br>Sat by her door with her wheel atwirl,<br>A bent and blear-eyed poor old soul.<br>'Oho!' she muttered, 'ye 're brave to-day!<br>But I hear the little waves laugh and say,<br>'The broth will be cold that waits at home;<br>For it 's one to go, but another to come!''</div><div style="margin:10px 0">'She's cursed,' said the skipper; 'speak her fair:<br>I'm scary always to see her shake<br>Her wicked head, with its wild gray hair,<br>And nose like a hawk, and eyes like a snake.'<br>But merrily still, with laugh and shout,<br>From Hampton River the boat sailed out,<br>Till the huts and the flakes on Star seemed nigh,<br>And they lost the scent of the pines of Rye.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">They dropped their lines in the lazy tide,<br>Drawing up haddock and mottled cod;<br>They saw not the Shadow that walked beside,<br>They heard not the feet with silence shod.<br>But thicker and thicker a hot mist grew,<br>Shot by the lightnings through and through;<br>And muffled growls, like the growl of a beast,<br>Ran along the sky from west to east.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Then the skipper looked from the darkening sea<br>Up to the dimmed and wading sun;<br>But he spake like a brave man cheerily,<br>'Yet there is time for our homeward run.'<br>Veering and tacking, they backward wore;<br>And just as a breath-from the woods ashore<br>Blew out to whisper of danger past,<br>The wrath of the storm came down at last!</div><div style="margin:10px 0">The skipper hauled at the heavy sail<br>'God be our help!' he only cried,<br>As the roaring gale, like the stroke of a flail,<br>Smote the boat on its starboard side.<br>The Shoalsmen looked, but saw alone<br>Dark films of rain-cloud slantwise blown,<br>Wild rocks lit up by the lightning's glare,<br>The strife and torment of sea and air.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Goody Cole looked out from her door<br>The Isles of Shoals were drowned and gone,<br>Scarcely she saw the Head of the Boar<br>Toss the foam from tusks of stone.<br>She clasped her hands with a grip of pain,<br>The tear on her cheek was not of rain<br>'They are lost,' she muttered, 'boat and crew!<br>Lord, forgive me! my words were true!'</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Suddenly seaward swept the squall;<br>The low sun smote through cloudy rack;<br>The Shoals stood clear in the light, and all<br>The trend of the coast lay hard and black.<br>But far and wide as eye could reach,<br>No life was seen upon wave or beach;<br>The boat that went out at morning never<br>Sailed back again into Hampton River.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">O mower, lean on thy bended snath,<br>Look from the meadows green and low<br>The wind of the sea is a waft of death,<br>The waves are singing a song of woe!<br>By silent river, by moaning sea,<br>Long and vain shall thy watching be<br>Never again shall the sweet voice call,<br>Never the white hand rise and fall!</div><div style="margin:10px 0">O Rivermouth Rocks, how sad a sight<br>Ye saw in the light of breaking day<br>Dead faces looking up cold and white<br>From sand and seaweed where they lay.<br>The mad old witch-wife wailed and wept,<br>And cursed the tide as it backward crept<br>'Crawl back, crawl back, blue water-snake<br>Leave your dead for the hearts that break!'</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Solemn it was in that old day<br>In Hampton town and its log-built church,<br>Where side by side the coffins lay<br>And the mourners stood in aisle and porch.<br>In the singing-seats young eyes were dim,<br>The voices faltered that raised the hymn,<br>And Father Dalton, grave and stern,<br>Sobbed through his prayer and wept in turn.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">But his ancient colleague did not pray;<br>Under the weight of his fourscore years<br>He stood apart with the iron-gray<br>Of his strong brows knitted to hide his tears;<br>And a fair-faced woman of doubtful fame,<br>Linking her own with his honored name,<br>Subtle as sin, at his side withstood<br>The felt reproach of her neighborhood.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Apart with them, like them forbid,<br>Old Goody Cole looked drearily round,<br>As, two by two, with their faces hid,<br>The mourners walked to the burying-ground.<br>She let the staff from her clasped hands fall<br>'Lord, forgive us! we're sinners all!'<br>And the voice of the old man answered her<br>'Amen!' said Father Bachiler.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">So, as I sat upon Appledore<br>In the calm of a closing summer day,<br>And the broken lines of Hampton shore<br>In purple mist of cloudland lay,<br>The Rivermouth Rocks their story told;<br>And waves aglow with sunset gold,<br>Rising and breaking in steady chime,<br>Beat the rhythm and kept the time.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">And the sunset paled, and warmed once more<br>With a softer, tenderer after-glow;<br>In the east was moon-rise, with boats off-shore<br>And sails in the distance drifting slow.<br>The beacon glimmered from Portsmouth bar,<br>The White Isle kindled its great red star;<br>And life and death in my old-time lay<br>Mingled in peace like the night and day!</div><div style="margin:10px 0">. . . . .</div><div style="margin:10px 0">'Well!' said the Man of Books, 'your story<br>Is really not ill told in verse.<br>As the Celt said of purgatory,<br>One might go farther and fare worse.'<br>The Reader smiled; and once again<br>With steadier voice took up his strain,<br>While the fair singer from the neighboring tent<br>Drew near, and at his side a graceful listener bent.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=John+Greenleaf+Whittier">John Greenleaf Whittier</a><div class=q>
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<script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=420829" data-title="The Wreck Of Rivermouth de John Greenleaf Whittier" data-description="Rivermouth Rocks are fair to see,
By dawn or sunset shone across,
When the ebb of the sea has left them free,
To dry their fringes of gold-green moss
For there the river comes winding down,
From salt sea-meadows and uplands brown,
And waves on the..."></div>
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