Parting: not of the boisterous wave, not of the tempest’s power, where truant the hearts
come back to be forgiven, where soft touches move with thrill unspeakable, as woke the
hallowed day, with snowy sails & favoring gales, our ship pursued her way: volcanic light
gilds the night. Trusting child: the good ship o’er the Ocean glides on where skies are
bright, & rolling waves propel her homeward flight as blast and tempest rush. Go, muse,
beside the sea, where white-winged navies ride, its highest pulse is beating free, strong
mysterious tides. Homeward bound: hail, distant mountain! rearing dim o’er my loved
land, thy lofty head; welcome is thy sight to those so long by chart & compass led. The
Prophet’s vision: Temple gates where bright Orients glow’d, fast by th’ altar’s hallow’d
wooden base, uncharted waters like crystals flow – merging specks mid ocean’s foam.
Sigourney, Lydia Howard Huntley. Poems for the Sea. Hartford: H. S. Parsons & Co., 1850. https://archive.org/details/poemsforsea00sigo/page/152/mode/1up