1 IN cabinâ€™d ships, at sea, The boundless blue on every side expanding, With whistling winds and music of the wavesâ€”the large imperious wavesâ€”In such, Or some lone bark, buoyâ€™d on the dense marine, Where, joyous, full of faith, spreading white sails, She cleaves the ether, mid the sparkle and the foam of day, or under many a star at night, By sailors young and old, haply will I, a reminiscence of the land, be read, In full rapport at last.
2 Here are our thoughtsâ€”voyagersâ€™ thoughts, Here not the land, firm land, alone appears, may then by them be said; The sky oâ€™erarches hereâ€”we feel the undulating deck beneath our feet,
We feel the long pulsationâ€”ebb and flow of endless motion; The tones of unseen mysteryâ€”the vague and vast suggestions of the briny worldâ€”the liquid-flowing syllables, The perfume, the faint creaking of the cordage, the melancholy rhythm, The boundless vista, and the horizon far and dim, are all here, And this is Oceanâ€™s poem.
3 Then falter not, O book! fulfil your destiny! You, not a reminiscence of the land alone, You too, as a lone bark, cleaving the etherâ€”purposâ€™d I know not whitherâ€”yet ever full of faith, Consort to every ship that sailsâ€”sail you! Bear forth to them, folded, my loveâ€”(Dear mariners! for you I fold it here, in every leaf;) Speed on, my Book! spread your white sails, my little bark, athwart the imperious waves! Chant onâ€”sail onâ€”bear oâ€™er the boundless blue, from me, to every shore, This song for mariners and all their ships.