THE land breaks out, like a gleam of hope, Over the ocean foam, But its daughters no longer are pulling the rope That's bringing her sailors home. Her whalers lie rotting, and lone and drear, Far in some foreign port: They have laid there rusting for many a year, Of water and wind the sport. The decks are piled with the winter snows, The men are scattered, -- ah me! No masthead echoes to "There she blows!" Far out in the Okhotsk Sea. But her hearts are as tried, and her men as true, As, when trimming the distant sail, They passed their lives on the waters blue, In hunting the Bow Head Whale. Her daughters are pure and sweet and fair, And cheerful and kind and good, And sparkling water and sparkling air Shine out in their changeful mood. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...COSMOPOLITE by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON THE OLD SQUIRE by WILFRID SCAWEN BLUNT ODES: BOOK 2: ODE 9. AT STUDY by MARK AKENSIDE TO THE LADY PENELOPE RITCH by RICHARD BARNFIELD SANDY STAR: 2. LAUGHING IT OUT by WILLIAM STANLEY BRAITHWAITE THE GLORY OF GRAY by CHRISTINE F. BRONSON |