Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, WAITING FOR THE SHIP, by JAMES HEDDERWICK


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Classic and Contemporary Poetry

WAITING FOR THE SHIP, by                     Poet's Biography
First Line: Now he stroll'd along the pebbles, now he saunter'd on the pier
Last Line: And the morrow came -- but never came he more.
Subject(s): Ships & Shipping


Now he stroll'd along the pebbles, now he saunter'd on the pier,
Now the summit of the nearest hill he clomb;
His looks were full of straining, through all weathers foul and clear,
For the ship that he was weary wishing home.

On the white wings of the dawn, far as human eye could reach,
Went his vision like a sea-gull's o'er the deep;
While the fisher's boats lay silent in the bay and on the beach,
And the houses and the mountains were asleep.

'Mid the chat of boys and men, and the laugh from women's lips,
When the labours of the morning were begun,
On the far horizon's dreary edge his soul was with the ships,
As they caught a gleam of welcome from the sun.

Through the grey of eve he peer'd when the stars were in the sky --
They were watchers which the angels seem'd to send;
And he bless'd the faithful lighthouse, with its large and ruddy eye,
For it cheer'd him like the bright eye of a friend.

The gentle waves came lisping things of promise at his feet,
Then they ebb'd as if to vex him with delay;
The soothing wind against his face came blowing strong and sweet,
Then it blew as blowing all his hope away.

One day a wiseling argued how the ship might be delay'd --
"'Twas odd," quoth he, "I thought so from the first;"
But a man of many voyages was standing by and said --
"It is best to be prepared against the worst."

A keen-eyed old coast-guardsman, with his telescope in hand,
And his cheeks in countless puckers 'gainst the rain,
Here shook his large and grizzled head, that all might understand
How he knew that hoping longer was in vain.

Then silent thought the stranger of his wife and children five,
As he slowly turn'd with trembling lip aside;
Yet with his heart to feed upon his hopes were kept alive,
So for months he watch'd and wander'd by the tide.

"Lo! what wretched man is that," asked an idler at the coast,
"Who looks as if he something seem'd to lack?"
Then answer made a villager -- "His wife and babes are lost,
Yet he thinks that ere to-morrow they'll be back."

Oh! a fresh hale man he flourish'd in the spring-time of the year,
But before the wintry rains began to drip --
No more he climb'd the headland, but sat sickly on the pier,
Saying sadly -- "I am waiting for the ship."

On a morn, of all the blackest, only whiten'd by the spray
Of the billows wild for shelter of the shore,
He came not in the dawning forth, he came not all the day;
And the morrow came -- but never came he more.





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