. King's handbook of Boston harbor. skimming overthis fair little sea. It is a sight of rare beauty, when, on a bright summerday, the accomplishments of the yachtsmen and the virtues of their boatsare tested in the regatta, and the bay is whitened by a long processionof sails, stretching away to some distant goal, and rounding to for theswift homeward voyage. The confirmed landsman,who does not know the difference between a fore-castle and a flying-jib, finds a more tranquil joy>ut in the local pleasure-boats, withstrong hand of Capt. James, or SamSawyer, or Pope, or Galliano, on thetiller,
. King's handbook of Boston harbor. skimming overthis fair little sea. It is a sight of rare beauty, when, on a bright summerday, the accomplishments of the yachtsmen and the virtues of their boatsare tested in the regatta, and the bay is whitened by a long processionof sails, stretching away to some distant goal, and rounding to for theswift homeward voyage. The confirmed landsman,who does not know the difference between a fore-castle and a flying-jib, finds a more tranquil joy>ut in the local pleasure-boats, withstrong hand of Capt. James, or SamSawyer, or Pope, or Galliano, on thetiller, and their practised eyes watch-ing the course. One of theseveterans, with a boat as cleanas the boudoir of Lady ClaraVere de Vere, may be hired fortwo or three dollars, for a longafternoon, to sail whithersoeverthe wind allows. Free from careof course or current, one may sail on for hours through a deepening peace,dreaming over the legends of the islands, or enjoying such sweet repose asBuchanan Read sang of, in his Drifting: —. Skipper William James, Hull My soul to-day Is far awaySailing the [fair New-England] Bay ; My winged boat, A bird afloat,Sails round the purple peaks remote. Under the wallsWhere swells and falls The Bays deep breast at interval?At peace I lie,Blown softly by, A cloud upon this liquid sky. Round purple peaksIt sails, and seeks Blue inlets and their crystal creeks,Where high rocks throw,Through deeps below, A duplicated golden glow. The day, so mild,Is Heavens own child, With Earth and Ocean reconciled ;The airs I feelAround me steal Are murmuring to the murmuring keel. I heed not if My rippling skiffFloat swift or slow from cliff to cliff, • With dreamful eyes My spirit liesUnder the walls of Paradise. Over the railMy hand I trail Within the shadow of the sail,A joy intense,The cooling sense Glides down my drowsy indolence/ KINGS HANDBOOK OF BOSTON HARBOR. 33 In the snug little cove, alongside the Pcmberton, there are commodiouslanding-stages, and
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Keywords: ., bookauthorkingmose, bookcentury1800, bookdecade1880, bookyear1882
