My Life Is Like A Stroll Upon The Beach,
As Near The Ocean's Edge As I Can Go,
My Tardy Steps Its Waves Sometimes O'erreach,
Sometimes I Stay To Let Them Overflow.
My sole employment 't is, and scrupulous care,
To place my gains beyond the reach of tides,
Each smoother pebble, and each shell more rare,
Which ocean kindly to my hand confides.
I have but few companions on the shore,
They scorn the strand who sail upon the sea,
Yet oft I think the ocean they've sailed o'er
Is deeper known upon the strand to me.
The middle sea contains no crimson dulse,
Its deeper waves cast up no pearls to view,
Along the shore my hand is on its pulse,
And I converse with many a shipwrecked crew.
The small houses which were scattered along the river at
intervals of a mile or more were commonly out of sight to us, but
sometimes, when we rowed near the shore, we heard the peevish
note of a hen, or some slight domestic sound, which betrayed
them. The lock-men's houses were particularly well placed,
retired, and high, always at falls or rapids, and commanding the
pleasantest reaches of the river, - for it is generally wider and
more lake-like just above a fall, - and there they wait for boats.
These humble dwellings, homely and sincere, in which a hearth was
still the essential part, were more pleasing to our eyes than
palaces or castles would have been. In the noon of these days,
as we have said, we occasionally climbed the banks and approached
these houses, to get a glass of water and make acquaintance with
their inhabitants.
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