New  England!  New  England!

Thou  lovest  well  thine  ocean  main!
It  spreadeth  its  locks  among  thy  rocks,

And  long  against  thy  heart  hath  lain;
Thy  ships  upon  its  bosom  ride
And  feel  the  heaving  of  its  tide;

To  thee  its  secret  speech  is  plain.
Cape  Breton  and  Edward  Isle  between,
In  strait  and  gulf  the  schooners  lay;

The  sea  was  all  at  peace,  I  ween,
The  night  before  that  August  day;


THE    LORD'S-DAY    GALE.  103

Was  never  a  Gloucester  skipper  there,
But  thought  erelong,  with  a  right  good  fare,
To  sail  for  home  from  Saint  Lawrence  Bay.
New  England !  New  England  !

Thy  giant's  love  was  turned  to  hate!
The  winds  control  his  fickle  soul,

And  in  his  wrath  he  hath  no  mate.
Thy  shores  his  angry  scourges  tear,
And  for  thy  children  in  his  care

The  sudden  tempests  lie  in  wait.
The  East  Wind  gathered  all  unknown, —
A  thick  sea-cloud  his  course  before;

He  left  by  night  the  frozen  zone
And  smote  the  cliffs  of  Labrador;

He  lashed  the  coasts  on  either  hand,

And  betwixt  the  Cape  and  Newfoundland
Into  the  Bay  his  armies  pour.
104  THE    LORD'S-DAY    GALE.
