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SEA-SHORE MEMORIES.

OUT OF THE CRADLE ENDLESSLY ROCKING.

1

¹ OUT of the cradle endlessly rocking,

Out of the mocking-bird's throat, the musical shuttle,

Out of the Ninth-month midnight,

Over the sterile sands, and the fields beyond, where the
child, leaving his bed, wander'd alone, bare-
headed, barefoot,

Down from the shower'd halo,

Up from the mystic play of shadows twining and twist-
ing as if they were alive,

Out from the patches of briers and blackberries,

From the memories of the bird that chanted to me,

From your memories, sad brother—from the fitful
risings and fallings I heard,

From under that yellow half-moon, late-risen, and
swollen as if with tears,

From those beginning notes of sickness and love there
in the transparent mist,

From the thousand responses of my heart, never to
cease,

From the myriad thence-arous'd words,

From the word stronger and more delicious than any,

From such, as now they start, the scene revisiting,

As a flock, twittering, rising, or overhead passing,

Borne hither—ere all eludes me, hurriedly,

A man—yet by these tears a little boy again,

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Throwing myself on the sand, confronting the waves,

I, chanter of pains and joys, uniter of here and hereafter,

Taking all hints to use them—but swiftly leaping
beyond them,

A reminiscence sing.

2

² Once Paumanok,

When the snows had melted—when the lilac-scent was
in the air, and the Fifth-month grass was
growing,

Up this seashore, in some briers,

Two guests from Alabama—two together,

And their nest, and four light-green eggs, spotted with
brown,

And every day the he-bird, to and fro, near at hand,

And every day the she-bird, crouch'd on her nest, silent,
with bright eyes,

And every day I, a curious boy, never too close, never
disturbing them,

Cautiously peering, absorbing, translating.

3

³ Shine! shine! shine!

Pour down your warmth, great Sun!

While we bask—we two together.

⁴ Two together!

Winds blow South, or winds blow North,

Day come white, or night come black,

Home, or rivers and mountains from home,

Singing all time, minding no time,

While we two keep together.

4

⁵ Till of a sudden,

May-be kill'd, unknown to her mate,

One forenoon the she-bird crouch'd not on the nest,

Nor return'd that afternoon, nor the next,

Nor ever appear'd again.

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And thenceforward, all summer, in the sound of the
sea,

And at night, under the full of the moon, in calmer
weather,

Over the hoarse surging of the sea,

Or flitting from brier to brier by day,

I saw, I heard at intervals, the remaining one, the he-
bird,

The solitary guest from Alabama.

5

⁷ Blow! blow! blow!

Blow up, sea-winds, along Paumanok's shore!

I wait and I wait, till you blow my mate to me.

6

⁸ Yes, when the stars glisten'd,

All night long, on the prong of a moss-scallop'd stake,

Down, almost amid the slapping waves,

Sat the lone singer, wonderful, causing tears.

⁹ He call'd on his mate;

He pour'd forth the meanings which I, of all men, know.

¹⁰ Yes, my brother, I know;

The rest might not—but I have treasur'd every note;

For once, and more than once, dimly, down to the
beach gliding,

Silent, avoiding the moonbeams, blending myself with
the shadows,

Recalling now the obscure shapes, the echoes, the
sounds and sights after their sorts,

The white arms out in the breakers tirelessly tossing,

I, with bare feet, a child, the wind wafting my hair,

Listen'd long and long.

¹ Listen'd, to keep, to sing—now translating the notes,

Following you, my brother.

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7

¹² Soothe! soothe! soothe!

Close on its wave soothes the wave behind,

And again another behind, embracing and lapping, every
one close,

But my love soothes not me, not me.

¹³ Low hangs the moon—it rose late;

O it is lagging—O I think it is heavy with love, with love.

¹⁴ O madly the sea pushes, pushes upon the land,

With love—with love.

¹⁵ O night! do I not see my love fluttering out among
the breakers?

What is that little black thing I see there in the white?

¹⁶ Loud! loud! loud!

Loud I call to you, my love!

High and clear I shoot my voice over the waves;

Surely you must know who is here, is here;

You must know who I am, my love.

¹⁷ Low-hanging moon!

What is that dusky spot in your brown yellow?

O it is the shape, the shape of my mate!

O moon, do not keep her from me any longer.

¹⁸ Land! land! O land!

Whichever way I turn, O I think you could give me my
mate back again, if you only would;

For I am almost sure I see her dimly whichever way I look.

¹⁹ O rising stars!

Perhaps the one I want so much will rise, will rise with
some of you.

²⁰ O throat! O trembling throat!

Sound clearer through the atmosphere!

Pierce the woods, the earth;

Somewhere listening to catch you, must be the one I want.

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²¹ Shake out, carols!

Solitary here—the night's carols!

Carols of lonesome love! Death's carols!

Carols under that lagging, yellow, waning moon!

O, under that moon, where she droops almost down into the
sea!

O reckless, despairing carols.

²² But soft! sink low;

Soft! let me just murmur;

And do you wait a moment, you husky-nois'd sea;

For somewhere I believe I heard my mate responding to
me,

So faint—I must be still, be still to listen;

But not altogether still, for then she might not come imme-
diately to me.

²³ Hither, my love!

Here I am! Here!

With this just-sustain'd note I announce myself to you;

This gentle call is for you, my love, for you.

²⁴ Do not be decoy'd elsewhere!

That is the whistle of the wind—it is not my voice;

That is the fluttering, the fluttering of the spray;

Those are the shadows of leaves.

²⁵ O darkness! O in vain!

O I am very sick and sorrowful.

²⁶ O brown halo in the sky, near the moon, drooping upon
the sea!

O troubled reflection in the sea!

O throat! O throbbing heart!

O all—and I singing uselessly, uselessly all the night.

²⁷ Yet I murmur, murmor on!

O murmurs—you yourselves make me continue to sing, I
know not why.

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²⁸ O past! O life! O songs of joy!

In the air—in the woods—over fields,

Loved! loved! loved! loved! loved!

But my love no more, no more with me!

We two together no more.

8

²⁹ The aria sinking;

All else continuing—the stars shining,

The winds blowing—the notes of the bird continuous
echoing,

With angry moans the fierce old mother incessantly
moaning,

On the sands of Paumanok's shore, gray and rustling;

The yellow half-moon enlarged, sagging down, droop-
ing, the face of the sea almost touching;

The boy extatic—with his bare feet the waves, with his
hair the atmosphere dallying,

The love in the heart long pent, now loose, now at last
tumultuously bursting,

The aria's meaning, the ears, the soul, swiftly deposit-
ing,

The strange tears down the cheeks coursing,

The colloquy there—the trio—each uttering,

The undertone—the savage old mother, incessantly
crying,

To the boy's Soul's questions sullenly timing—some
drown'd secret hissing,

To the outsetting bard.

9

³⁰ Demon or bird! (said the boy's soul,)

Is it indeed toward your mate you sing? or is it mostly
to me?

For I, that was a child, my tongue's use sleeping,

Now I have heard you,

Now in a moment I know what I am for—I awake,

And already a thousand singers—a thousand songs,
clearer, louder and more sorrowful than yours,

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A thousand warbling echoes have started to life within
me,

Never to die.

³¹ O you singer, solitary, singing by yourself—project-
ing me;

O solitary me, listening—never more shall I cease per-
petuating you;

Never more shall I escape, never more the reverbera-
tions,

Never more the cries of unsatisfied love be absent from
me,

Never again leave me to be the peaceful child I was
before what, there in the night,

By the sea, under the yellow and sagging moon,

The messenger there arous'd—the fire, the sweet hell
within,

The unknown want, the destiny of me.

³² O give me the clew! (it lurks in the night here some-
where;)

O if I am to have so much, let me have more!

O a word! O what is my destination? (I fear it is hence-
forth chaos;)

O how joys, dreads, convolutions, humane shapes, and all
shapes, spring as from graves around me!

O phantoms! You cover all the land and all the sea!

O I cannot see in the dimness whether you smile or
frown upon me;

O vapor, a look, a word! O well-beloved!

O you dear women's and men's phantoms!

³³ A word then, (for I will conquer it,)

The word final, superior to all,

Subtle, sent up—what is it?—I listen;

Are you whispering it, and have been all the time, you
sea-waves?

Is that it from your liquid rims and wet sands?

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10

³⁴ Whereto answering, the sea,

Delaying not, hurrying not,

Whisper'd me through the night, and very plainly be-
fore daybreak,

Lisp'd to me the low and delicious word DEATH;

And again Death—ever Death, Death, Death,

Hissing melodious, neither like the bird, nor like my
arous'd child's heart,

But edging near, as privately for me, rustling at my
feet,

Creeping thence steadily up to my ears, and laving me
softly all over,

Death, Death, Death, Death, Death.

³⁵ Which I do not forget,

But fuse the song of my dusky demon and brother,

That he sang to me in the moonlight on Paumanok's
gray beach,

With the thousand responsive songs, at random,

My own songs, awaked from that hour;

And with them the key, the word up from the waves,

The word of the sweetest song, and all songs,

That strong and delicious word which, creeping to my
feet,

The sea whisper'd me.

AS I EBB'D WITH THE OCEAN OF LIFE.

1

¹ ELEMENTAL drifts!

HOW I wish I could impress others as you have just
been impressing me!

² As I ebb'd with an an ebb of the ocean of life,

As I wended the shores I know,

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As I walk'd where the ripples continually wash you,
Paumanok,

Where they rustle up, hoarse and sibilant,

Where the fierce old mother endlessly cries for her
castaways,

I, musing, late in the autumn day, gazing off south-
ward,

Alone, held by this eternal self of me, out of the pride
of which I utter my poems,

Was seiz'd by the spirit that trails in the lines under-
foot,

In the rim, the sediment that stands for all the water
and all the land of the globe.

2

⁴ As I wend to the shores I know not,

As I list to the dirge, the voices of men and women
wreck'd,

As I inhale the impalpable breezes that set in upon
me,

As the ocean so mysterious rolls toward me closer and
closer,

I, too, but signify, at the utmost, a little wash'd-up
drift,

A few sands and dead leaves to gather,

Gather, and merge myself as part of the sands and
drift.

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⁵ O baffled, balk'd, bent to the very earth,

Oppress'd with myself that I have dared to open my
mouth,

Aware now, that, amid all that blab whose echoes recoil
upon me, I have not once had the least idea
who or what I am,

But that before all my arrogant poems the real ME
stands yet untouch'd, untold, altogether un-
reach'd,

Withdrawn far, mocking me with mock-congratulatory
signs and bows,

With peals of distant ironical laughter at every word I
have written,

Pointing in silence to these songs, and then to the sand
beneath.

⁶ Now I perceive I have not understood any thing—not
a single object—and that no man ever can.

⁷ I perceive Nature, here in sight of the sea, is taking
advantage of me, to dart upon me, and sting me,

Because I have dared to open my mouth to sing at all.

3

⁸ You oceans both! I close with you;

We murmur alike reproachfully, rolling sands and
drift, knowing not why,

These little shreds indeed, standing for you and me
and all.

⁹ You friable shore, with trails of debris!

You fish-shaped island! I take what is underfoot;

What is yours is mine, my father.

¹⁰ I too Paumanok,

I too have bubbled up, floated the measureless float,
and been wash'd on your shores;

I too am but a trail of drift and debris;

I too leave little wrecks upon you, you fish-shaped
island.

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¹¹ I throw myself upon your breast, my father,

I cling to you so that you cannot unloose me,

I hold you so firm, till you answer me something.

¹² Kiss me, my father,

Touch me with your lips, as I touch those I love,

Breathe to me, while I hold you close, the secret of the
murmuring I envy.

4

¹³ Ebb, ocean of life, (the flow will return,)

Cease not your moaning, you fierce old mother,

Endlessly cry for your castaways—but fear not, deny
not me,

Rustle not up so hoarse and angry against my feet, as I
touch you, or gather from you.

¹⁴ I mean tenderly by you and all,

I gather for myself, and for this phantom, looking down
where we lead, and following me and mine.

¹⁵ Me and mine!

We, loose windrows, little corpses,

Froth, snowy white, and bubbles,

(See! from my dead lips the ooze exuding at last!

See—the prismatic colors glistening and rolling!)

Tufts of straw, sands, fragments,

Buoy'd hither from many moods, one contradicting
another,

From the storm, the long calm, the darkness, the swell;

Musing, pondering, a breath, a briny tear, a dab of
liquid or soil;

Up just as much out of fathomless workings fermented
and thrown;

A limp blossom or two, torn, just as much over waves
floating, drifted at random;

Just as much for us that sobbing dirge of Nature;

Just as much, whence we come, that blare of the cloud-
trumpets;

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We, capricious, brought hither we know not whence,
spread out before you,

You, up there, walking or sitting,

Whoever you are—we too lie in drifts at your feet.

TEARS.

TEARS! tears! tears!

In the night, in solitude, tears;

On the white shore dripping, dripping, suck'd in by the
sand;

Tears—not a star shining—all dark and desolate;

Moist tears from the eyes of a muffled head:

—O who is that ghost?—that form in the dark, with
tears?

What shapeless lump is that, bent, crouch'd there on
the sand?

Streaming tears—sobbing tears—throes, choked with
wild cries;

O storm, embodied, rising, careering, with swift steps
along the beach;

O wild and dismal night storm, with wind! O belching
and desperate!

O shade, so sedate and decorous by day, with calm
countenance and regulated pace;

But away, at night, as you fly, none looking—O then
the unloosen'd ocean,

Of tears! tears! tears!

ABOARD, AT A SHIP'S HELM.

¹ ABOARD at a ship's helm,

A young steersman, steering with care.

² A bell through fog on a sea-coast dolefully ringing,

An ocean-bell—O a warning bell, rock'd by the waves.

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³ O you give good notice indeed, you bell by the sea-
reefs ringing,

Ringing, ringing, to warn the ship from its wreck-place.

⁴ For, as on the alert, O steersman, you mind the bell's
admonition,

The bows turn,—the freighted ship, tacking, speeds
away under her gray sails,

The beautiful and noble ship, with all her precious
wealth speeds away gayly and safe.

⁵ But O the ship, the immortal ship! O ship aboard the
ship!

O ship of the body—ship of the soul—voyaging, voyag-
ing, voyaging.

ON THE BEACH, AT NIGHT.

1

¹ ON the beach, at night,

Stands a child, with her father,

Watching the east, the autumn sky.

² Up through the darkness,

While ravening clouds, the burial clouds, in black
masses spreading,

Lower, sullen and fast, athwart and down the sky,

Amid a transparent clear belt of ether yet left in the
east,

Ascends, large and calm, the lord-star Jupiter;

And nigh at hand, only a very little above,

Swim the delicate brothers, the Pleiades.

2

³ From the beach, the child, holding the hand of her
father,

Those burial-clouds that lower, victorious, soon to de-
vour all,

Watching, silently weeps.

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⁴ Weep not, child,

Weep not, my darling,

With these kisses let me remove your tears;

The ravening clouds shall not long be victorious,

They shall not long possess the sky—shall devour the
stars only inapparition:

Jupiter shall emerge—be patient—watch again
another night—the Pleiades shall emerge,

They are immortal—all those stars, both silvery and
golden, shall shine out again,

The great stars and the little ones shall shine out again—
they endure;

The vast immortal suns, and the long-enduring pensive
moons, shall again shine.

3

⁵ Then, dearest child, mournest thou only for Jupiter?

Considerest thou alone the burial of the stars?

⁶ Something there is,

(With my lips soothing thee, adding, I whisper,

I give thee the first suggestion, the problem and indi-
rection,)

Something there is more immortal even than the stars,

(Many the burials, many the days and night, passing
away,)

Something that shall endure longer even than lustrous
Jupiter,

Longer than sun, or any revolving satellite,

Or the radiant brothers, the Pleiades.

THE WORLD BELOW THE BRINE.

THE world below the brine;

Forests at the bottom of the sea—the branches and
leaves,

Sea-lettuce, vast lichens, strange flowers and seeds—
the thick tangle, the openings, and the pink turf,

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Different colors, pale gray and green, purple, white,
and gold—the play of light through the water,

Dumb swimmers there among the rocks—coral, gluten,
grass, rushes—and the aliment of the swimmers,

Sluggish existences grazing there, suspended, or slowly
crawling close to the bottom,

The sperm-whale at the surface, blowing air and spray,
or disporting with his flukes,

The leaden-eyed shark, the walrus, the turtle, the hairy
sea-leopard, and the sting-ray;

Passions there—wars, pursuits, tribes—sight in those
ocean-depths—breathing that thick-breathing
air, as so many do;

The change thence to the sight here, and to the subtle
air breathed by beings like us, who walk this
sphere;

The change onward from ours, to that of beings who
walk other spheres.

ON THE BEACH AT NIGHT ALONE.

¹ ON the beach at night alone,

As the old mother sways her to and fro singing her
husky song,

As I watch the bright stars shining—I think a thought
of the clef of the universes, and of the future.

² A VAST SIMILITUDE interlocks all,

All spheres, grown, ungrown, small, large, suns, moons,
planets, comets, asteroids,

All the substances of the same, and all that is spiritual
upon the same,

All distances of place, however wide,

All distances of time—all inanimate forms,

All Souls—all living bodies, though they be ever so
different, or in different worlds,

All gaseous, watery, vegetable, mineral processes—the
fishes, the brutes,

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All men and women—me also;

All nations, colors, barbarisms, civilizations, languages;

All identities that have existed, or may exist, on this
globe, or any globe;

All lives and deaths—all of the past, present, future;

This vast similitude spans them, and always has spann'd,
and shall forever span them, and compactly hold
them, and enclose them.