'Back to the Sea Mother' he calls these yearning lines:--
'Kindest of mothers, from whom I have strayed, Back again, tired, I come to thee, Chaunting and crooning the old wave-song; Sing it, oh! sing it again to me!
'Weary and spent as the hour draws near, Hush me to sleep with the soft wave-song; Wash all the cares away, wash all the strifes away, All the old pains that to living belong.
'Down at thy side I place me to rest; Slowly my senses are stealing from me; Passions and pleadings have ceased in my breast, Gently my spirit floats away free.'
'Thou great strong sea, fast lock'd in dreams, Clouds journeying to and fro, Whose tender blue the stars come through, I can but love ye so!
'Ye take possession of my heart, And all my life renew; Like grain of dust I grow a part, A small stray part of you.
'Thy sounds, O storm, are far and faint, As thou stridest over the sea; And we need thy breath from many a taint To set us clean and free.
'But when thou comest on mighty wings, Deal gently with forest and tree, For my heart is woe for the goodly things That to-morrow will cease to be.
'Yes! I shall go and you will dream, And drink the pale blue sky, Beneath the hill that hugs you round As silver days go by.
'When others come your love to claim, You still, you pale blue sea, Oh, shall you mean for them the same, That once you meant for me?
'And shall they look on you with eyes As tender true as mine, And love each changing gleam that flies Across that face of thine?'
I dislike the translation of expression from one art to another, otherwise I would call these verses impressionist. They have the quickly-captured forms, the frail fugitive colour, the infinite suggestiveness, which are the notes of the highest impressionism in painting.
'The sun is at rest--for the storms are o'er; Just touch'd with the hand of night, And a line of shadow creeps to the shore, Then flashes in silver light--
'Like a note that stops in its flight and droops, And clings for a while to the ground; Then trembles and wakes from its trance and breaks Into passion and glory of sound.'
How entirely true are these to the breaking of a smooth, pale expanse of water into motion and light; the sudden flashing as of a million spears with which the sea, when smitten by the sword of the Sun, rises to the challenge of Morning. And yet by what simple and common words this strong effect is produced!