TO A FRIEND IN THE NAVY, SICK AT HOME by JOHN GARDINER CALKINS BRAINARD

THE wave, the wave, the Yankee wave
That dances white and blue,
That roars in might, or laughs outright,
Or smiles and whispers too,
It is the same, whence'er it came,
And wheresoe'er it go, --
In piping gale or plaintive wail,
In triumph or in woe.
You're seen it on mid-ocean's surge
When war called up its wrath,
Yelling the fated foeman's dirge,
And howling round his path,--
You're seen it on the playful shore,
Its cheek upon the sand,
When winds were still and storms were o'er,
Kissing the quiet land.
By every promontory's sweep,
By every little bay,
By every shore and every steep
Where the smooth eddies play,--
Where'er the silver minim's fin
Scoops out his tiny cave,
To paddle or to ponder in,
You've seen the Yankee wave.
How gayly did it once bear up
Your little shingle boat,
And, when a bigger boy, on it
Your skiff you first did float;
And since, upon the broadest deck
That ever swam the seas,
You've raised a penon, proudest yet
That ever flapped the breeze.
Soon may you leave your fevered bed,
As one who quits a wreck,
And show once more a ----'s head
Upon a quarter-deck,--
Yes! leave your home, for ocean's foam,
And join your comrades brave,
For well I know, of all below,
You love the Yankee wave.

Classic and Contemporary Poetry

Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!

Other Poems of Interest...