The mighty surge and thunder of the surf along the shore.

I see upon the sand-dunes the beach-grass sway and swing,
I see the whirling sea-birds sweep by on graceful wing,
I see the silver breakers leap high on shoal and bar,
And hear the bell-buoy tolling his lonely note afar.
The green salt-meadows fling me their salty, sweet perfume,
I hear, through miles of dimness, the watchful fog-horn boom;
Once more, beneath the blackness of night's great roof-tree high,
The wild geese chant their marches athwart the arching sky.

The dear old Cape! I love it! I love its hills of sand,
The sea-wind singing o'er it, the seaweed on its strand;
The bright blue ocean 'round it, the clear blue sky o'erhead;
The fishing boats, the dripping nets, the white sails filled and spread;--
For each heart has its picture, and each its own home song,
The sights and sounds which move it when Youth's fair memories throng;
And when, down dreamland pathways, a boy, I stroll once more,
I hear the mighty music of the surf along the shore.

* * * * *

AT EVENTIDE

The tired breezes are tucked to rest
In the cloud-beds far away;
The waves are pressed to the placid breast
Of the dreaming, gleaming bay;
The shore line swims in a hazy heat,
Asleep in the sea and sky,