Down on the ancient wharf, the sand, I sit, with a new-comer chatting: He shipp'd as green-hand boy, and sail'd away, (took some sudden, vehement notion;) Since, twenty years and more have circled round and round, While he the plobe was circling round and round, -- and now returns: How changed the place -- all the old land-marks gone -- the parents dead; (Yes, he comes back to lay in port for good -- to settle -- has a well-fill'd purse -- no spot will do but this;) The little boat that scull'd him from the sloop, now held in leash I see, I hear the slapping waves, the restless keel, the rocking in the sand, I see the sailor kit, the canvas bag, the great box bound with brass, I scan the face all berry-brown and bearded -- the stout-strong fame, Dress'd in its russet suit of good Scotch cloth: (Then what the told-out story of those twenty years? What of the future?) | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...PICTURES FROM APPLEDORE: 3 by JAMES RUSSELL LOWELL THE BIGLOW PAPERS: 6. THE PIOUS EDITOR'S CREED by JAMES RUSSELL LOWELL BURIAL by EDNA ST. VINCENT MILLAY THE MINSTREL BOY by THOMAS MOORE THE HOUSE OF LIFE: 31. HER GIFTS by DANTE GABRIEL ROSSETTI THE WIDOW; SAPPHICS by ROBERT SOUTHEY |