O ye who toil in the town, And ye who moil in the mart, Hear the artless song, and your faith made strong Shall renew your joy of heart. Oh, poor were the worth of the world If never a song were heard,-- If the sting of grief had no relief, And never a heart were stirred. So, long as the streams run down, And as long as the robins trill, Let us taunt old Care with a merry air, And sing in the face of ill. THE MYSTIC SEA The smell of the sea in my nostrils, The sound of the sea in mine ears; The touch of the spray on my burning face, Like the mist of reluctant tears. The blue of the sky above me, The green of the waves beneath; The sun flashing down on a gray-white sail Like a scimitar from its sheath. And ever the breaking billows, And ever the rocks' disdain; And ever a thrill in mine inmost heart That my reason cannot explain. So I say to my heart, "Be silent, The mystery of time is here; Death's way will be plain when we fathom the main, And the secret of life be clear." A SAILOR'S SONG Oh for the breath of the briny deep, And the tug of the bellying sail, With the sea-gull's cry across the sky And a passing boatman's hail. For, be she fierce or be she gay, The sea is a famous friend alway. Ho! for the plains where the dolphins play, And the bend of the mast and spars, And a fight at night with the wild sea-sprite When the foam has drowned the stars. And, pray, what joy can the landsman feel Like the rise and fall of a sliding keel? Fair is the mead; the lawn is fair And the birds sing sweet on the lea; But the echo soft of a song aloft Is the strain that pleases me; And swish of rope and ring of chain Are music to men who sail the main. Then, if you love me, let me sail While a vessel dares the deep; For the ship 's my wife, and the breath of life Are the raging gales that sweep; And when I 'm done with calm and blast, A slide o'er the side, and rest at last. THE BOHEMIAN Bring me the livery of no other man. I am my own to robe me at my pleasure. Accepted rules to me disclose no treasure: What is the chief who shall my garments plan? No garb conventional but I 'll attack it. (Come, why not don my spangled jacket?) ABSENCE Good-night, my love, for I have dreamed of thee In waking dreams, until my soul is lost-- Is lost in passion's wide and shoreless sea, Where, like a ship, unruddered, it is tost Hither and thither at the wild waves' will. There is no potent Master's voice to still This newer, more tempestuous Galilee! The stormy petrels of my fancy fly In warning course across the darkening green, And, like a frightened bird, my heart doth cry And seek to find some rock of rest between The threatening sky and the relentless wave. It is not length of life that grief doth crave, But only calm and peace in which to die.