Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, THE MOTHER WHO HAS A CHILD AT SEA, by ELIZA COOK


Poetry Explorer

Classic and Contemporary Poetry

THE MOTHER WHO HAS A CHILD AT SEA, by                     Poet's Biography
First Line: There's an eye that looks on the swelling cloud
Last Line: To a mother who has a child at sea!
Subject(s): Mothers


There's an eye that looks on the swelling cloud,
Folding the moon in a funeral shroud,
That watches the stars dying one by one,
Till the whole of heaven's calm light hath gone;
There's an ear that lists to the hissing surge,
As the mourner turns to the anthem dirge;
That eye! that ear! oh, whose can they be,
But a mother's who has a child at sea?

There's a cheek that is getting ashy white,
As the tokens of storm come on with night;
There's a form that's fixed at the lattice pane,
To mark how the gloom gathers over the main,
While the yeasty billows lash the shore
With loftier sweep and hoarser roar;
That cheek! that form! oh, whose can they be,
But a mother's who hath a child at sea?

The rushing whistle chills her blood,
As the north wind hurries to scourge the flood;
And the icy shiver spreads to her heart
As the first red lines of lightning start.
The ocean boils; -- All mute she stands,
With parted lips and tight clasped hands:
Oh, marvel not at her fear, for she
Is a mother who hath a child at sea.

She conjures up the fearful scene
Of yawning waves, where the ship between,
With striking keel and splintered mast,
Is plunging hard and foundering fast.
She sees her boy, with lank drenched hair,
Clinging on to the wreck with a cry of despair.
Oh, the vision is maddening! No grief can be
Like a mother's who hath a child at sea.

She presses her brow -- she sinks and kneels,
Whilst the blast howls on and the thunder peals;
She breathes not a word, for her passionate prayer
Is too fervent and deep for the lips to bear;
It is poured in the long convulsive sigh,
In the straining glance of an upturned eye,
And a holier offering cannot be
Than the mother's prayer for her child at sea.

Oh! I love the winds when they spurn control,
For they suit my own bond-hating soul;
I like to hear my soul sweeping past,
Like the eagle's pinions, free and fast;
But a pang will rise, with sad alloy,
To soften my spirit and sink my joy,
When I think how dismal their voices must be
To a mother who has a child at sea!





Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!


Other Poems of Interest...
Home: PoetryExplorer.net