| |
(Excerpt)
THE TIDE comes in, and the tide goes out, | |
| And the rollers break on the harbor bar, | |
| And up from the distance comes a sail, | |
| Gleaming white, ’neath the morning star. | |
| |
| Fishing tackle and boats on deck, | 5 |
| Running rigging, belayed and trim; | |
| Raking spars,—’t is no battered wreck | |
| Sailing out in the distance dim. | |
| |
| It draws not near, though the wind is fair, | |
| The sheets are free, but it comes not nigh, | 10 |
| But hangs, a point on the morning air, | |
| A pictured sail, ’twixt the sea and sky. | |
| |
| “Fisherman, tell me why yonder boat | |
| Sails, and no nearer comes to shore; | |
| Nor in the distance grows remote, | 15 |
| Nor a ripple her bow breaks o’er.” | |
| |
| “Stranger, I reckon you are n’t here long: | |
| Many a year her pennant flew. | |
| Old is the story; a worn-out song, | |
| But her deck is trod by no mortal crew. | 20 |
| |
| “Look a moment, and see the flame | |
| Gleaming white over mast and spar; | |
| Here, take my glass; you can read the name | |
| Under her starn; ’t is the Alice Marr. | |
| |
| “Alice Marr was a fair young girl, | 25 |
| Long ago in Glos’ter town; | |
| Rippling tresses and sunny curl, | |
| Rare red lips, and a check of brown. | |
| |
| “That was Alice, the fisher’s pride; | |
| Lovers sought her from near and far; | 30 |
| She was John Ackman’s promised bride: | |
| He named his vessel the Alice Marr. | |
| |
| “Thar ’s nothing sartin, stranger, in life; | |
| We ’re gone to-morrow, though here to-day: | |
| Another v’yage she would be his wife, | 35 |
| At least so I ’ve hearn the gossips say. | |
| |
| “Pork, potatoes, and hard-tack stowed, | |
| Water in barrels, and water in tanks, | |
| Nicely fixed for a three months’ cruise, | |
| He sailed away for the fishing-banks. * * * * * | 40 |
| “Months rolled on, and never a word; | |
| Six months, twelve months: on the day | |
| That finished the year was a rumor heard | |
| Of the Alice Marr in the outer bay. | |
| |
| “Boats put out, but they drew not near, | 45 |
| Slowly, silently, on she steered: | |
| ‘Skipper Ackman! ho! what cheer!’ | |
| She had vanished, had disappeared. | |
| |
| “Ever, as rolls the year around | |
| Bringing again her sailing day, | 50 |
| Rises her hull from the depths profound, | |
| And slowly cruises the outer bay. | |
| |
| “Not a word of her master’s fate; | |
| Only a glimmer of sail and spar; | |
| Not a word of her crew or mate,— | 55 |
| This is the ghost of the Alice Marr. | |
| |
| “Still she watched down the peaceful bay, | |
| Still her eye scanned each gathering cloud: | |
| Years receded, and, worn and gray, | |
| Her wedding dress was her funeral shroud.” * * * * * | 60 |
| |
