Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, THE SEA-BOY, by LYDIA HUNTLEY SIGOURNEY


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Classic and Contemporary Poetry

THE SEA-BOY, by                 Poet Analysis     Poet's Biography
First Line: Up and reef top-sails - ho
Last Line: Of his warm feelings on the faithless sea
Subject(s): Sailing & Sailors


"Up and reef top-sails -- ho!"
The storm was loud,
And the deep midnight muffled up her head,
Leaving no ray. By the red binnacle
I saw the sea-boy. His young cheek was pale,
And his lip trembled. But he dared not hear
That hoarse command repeated. So he sprang
With slender foot, amid the slippery shrouds.
He, oft, by moonlight-watch, had lured my ear
With everlasting stories of his home
And of his mother. His fair brow told tales
Of household kisses, and of gentle hands
That bound it when it ached, and laid it down
On the soft pillow, with a curtaining care.
And he had sometimes spoken of the cheer
That waited him, when wearied from his school,
At winter's eve he came. Then he would pause,
For his high-beating bosom threw a chain
O'er his proud lip, or else it would have sighed
A deep remorse for leaving such a home.
And he would haste away, and pace the deck
More rapidly, as if to hide from me
The gushing tear. I marked the inward strife
Unquestioning, save by a silent prayer,
That the tear wrung so bitterly, might work
The sea-boy's good and wash away all trace
Of disobedience. Now, the same big tear
Hung like a pearl upon him, as he climbed
And grappled to the mast. I watched his toil,
With strange foreboding, till he seemed a speck
Upon the ebon bosom of the cloud.
And I remembered that he once had said,
"I fear I shall not see my home again:"
And sad the memory of those mournful words
Dwelt with me, as he passed above my sight
Into thick darkness.
The wild blast swept on,
The strong ship tossed.
Shuddering, I heard a plunge --
A heavy plunge -- a gurgling 'mid the wave.
I shouted to the crew. In vain! In vain!
The ship held on her way. And never more
Shall that poor delicate sea-boy raise his head
To do the bidding of those roughened men,
Whose home is on the sea. And never more
May his fond mother strain him to her breast,
Weeping that hardship thus should bronze the brow
To her so beautiful -- nor the kind sire
Make glad, by his forgiveness, the rash youth
Who wandered from his home, to throw the wealth
Of his warm feelings on the faithless sea





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