"Oh, he wore plumes in his broad hat And jewelled buckles on his shoon, And O, the sparkle in his eye! And yet his love could die so soon!"
"H-m. Suggests satin breeches and hair-powder, men who could navigate a ball-room floor more safely than the Trades, doesn't it? Wherever did you get such notions?"
I showed her a volume, one of Captain Blaise's, an anthology of the Elizabethan and Restoration poets. "I was trying to write like one of 'em," I explained. "And I thought it was pretty good."
"I don't--a poor girl believing that Heaven made her kind for the high people's pleasure. No, I don't like that. And 'hair as silk as tasselled corn!' Do you like tasselled corn hair?"
"Why, no--in a man. But my own being black--"
"Hush! Black's best. No, you're not intended for that kind of writing."
"'True love can neither hate nor scorn, And ne'er will true love pass away.'
"Something like it's been said so often. Why don't you put it in your own words?" She took up another sheet. "What's this about?"
"That's about a day and night at sea--a fine day in the Trades, such a day as to-day--and last night."
"It _was_ a beautiful moon last night, wasn't it?" And she read to herself. Coming to the last stanza, she read aloud, unconsciously I think:
"The stars gleamed out of a purple light, The moon trembled wide on the sea; The Western Ocean smiled that night-- Sweetheart, 'twas a dream of thee!"
She paused. "But the ocean doesn't smile." "But it does. Smiles and frowns, and roars and coos, and coaxes and threatens, and strikes and caresses, and leaps and rolls--and so many other things. I've seen it. And Captain Blaise will tell you the same."
She looked strangely at me. In the deep sea I had seen, at times, that deep dark blue of her eyes--ultramarine, they call it; but hers softer. I almost told her so, but I was afraid.
"'The Western Ocean smiled that night--Sweetheart, 'twas a dream of thee!'"
It's pretty, but more like what men who cruise for pleasure would write. You're a sailor--have taken a sailor's chances. Why don't you write like a sailor? It is a sad sea, a terrible sea, despite all your beautiful blue Trades. Why don't you write of the tragic sea?"
"I knew that some time you would say something like that. I've seen it in your eyes before."