Clinton Scollard

A Sea Rover

  The breakers dash, the breakers boom,
    Upon the beaches ceaselessly;
  Beyond the line of flying spume
    Stretch weltering wastes of sea.

  There gray gulls hold their loud carouse,
    The four great winds rejoice or mourn,
  There go deep barques, with plunging prows,
    On far adventures borne.

  That one, with streaming pennon, seeks
    The golden gates that guard the morn,
  That one the perilous island peaks
    Beyond the stormy Horn.

  My fancy sails with each and all,
    Unleashed, untrammeled, unconfined;
  There is no bond, there is no thrall,
    Can chain the roving mind!

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