HARRY MAIN .

  Everett Stanley Hubbard.

On the bar of Ipswich, Harry Main,

Restless of heart and hand,

Through midnight tempest, rift or rain,

Is coiling a rope of sand.

Doomed for his sins to this vain toil, -

Blasphemous pirate he; -

For a thousand years to stand and coil

This cable by the sea.

What though the bar lies bare and white

When the night drifts into the day,

And myriad shafts of gleaming light

Gild the river and bay;

Though swallows dip through the soft blue sky,

Threading the east and west,

While Castle Hill lies couchant nigh,

As a lion rears from rest;

Though a calm is born of Sabbath hours,

And the bells of Ipswich chime

"' From the old South and Northern towers

In a palpitating rhyme;

Though billows rest and the north winds sleep,

And the Spring comes with its hopes,

And a tender green begins to creep

0' er all the Jeffrey slopes, -

Yet, Harry, I know that thou art hid

Close in some Qcean cave;

Whence, when the bar groans out amid

The night wind and the wave,

Thou comest forth at the stern command,

Clanking thy bondage chain,

To coil thine endless cable of sand,

Malefactor Harry Main:

Come thou that boastest thou art brave,

From restless waiting by the deep;

The white gull's cry along the wave

Is hushed, and he is lulled to sleep;

The lonely plover whistling o'er

The seaward hill and salty way,

Goes down to dream upon the moor,

Until the coming of the day!

But Harry Main, Ho, Harry Main,

Come thou and take thy task again!”

Years thou didst labor, grim and gray,

While the green waves thundered by,

And thy long beard streamed amidst the spray,

While a fierce light lit thine eye.

And thou didst laugh in scorn and pride:

" What care I wind or rain?

There's naught I reck by land or tide, -

I am fearless Harry Main!"

But centuries grew from the hoarded years,

And thy boastful tongue was stilled;

So thou didst  pray for the smiles and tears

With which humanity's filled.

But ever thy lonely task went on,

And ever a dread unrest

Weighed thy heart, as the days were borne

Through the gateway of the West.

" Come thou that boasted thou wast brave,

From restless waiting by the deep;

The currents round the Black Rocks rave,

The shades of night begin to creep.

The Ipswich brooks come to the bar

By devious ways along the lea,

But, Harry, though they've wandered far ,

They rest at last upon the sea.

But Harry Main, Ho, Harry Main,

Come thou and take: thy task again!

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