Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, THE DIVER, by FELICIA DOROTHEA HEMANS


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Classic and Contemporary Poetry

THE DIVER, by                 Poet Analysis     Poet's Biography
First Line: Thou hast been where the rocks of coral grow
Last Line: O wrestler with the sea!
Alternate Author Name(s): Browne, Felicia Dorothea
Subject(s): Diving & Divers; Pain; Suffering; Misery


THOU hast been where the rocks of coral grow,
Thou hast fought with eddying waves; --
Thy cheek is pale, and thy heart beats low,
Thou searcher of ocean's caves!

Thou hast looked on the gleaming wealth of old,
And wrecks where the brave have striven;
The deep is a strong and a fearful hold,
But thou its bar hast riven!

A wild and weary life is thine;
A wasting task and lone,
Though treasure-grots for thee may shine,
To all besides unknown!

A weary life! but a swift decay
Soon, soon shall set thee free;
Thou'rt passing fast from thy toils away,
Thou wrestler with the sea!

In thy dim eye, on thy hollow cheek,
Well are the death-signs read --
Go! for the pearl in its cavern seek,
Ere hope and power be fled!

And bright in beauty's coronal
That glistening gem shall be;
A star to all in the festive hall --
But who will think on thee?

None! as it gleams from the queen-like head,
Not one 'midst throngs will say,
"A life hath been like a rain-drop shed,
For that pale quivering ray."

Woe for the wealth thus dearly bought! --
And are not those like thee
Who win for earth the gems of thought?
O wrestler with the sea!

Down to the gulfs of the soul they go,
Where the passion-fountains burn,
Gathering the jewels far below
From many a buried urn:

Wringing from lava-veins the fire,
That o'er bright words is poured!
Learning deep sounds, to make the lyre
A spirit in each chord.

But, oh! the price of bitter tears,
Paid for the lonely power
That throws at last, o'er desert years,
A darkly-glorious dower!

Like flower-seeds, by the wild wind spread,
So radiant thoughts are strewed; --
The soul whence those high gifts are shed,
May faint in solitude!

And who will think, when the strain is sung,
Till a thousand hearts are stirred,
What life-drops, from the minstrel wrung,
Have gushed with every word?

None, none! -- his treasures live like thine,
He strives and dies like thee; --
Thou, that hast been to the pearl's dark shrine,
O wrestler with the sea!





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