THE SEA.

Otago Witness, Issue 2007, 11 August 1892, Page 38

THE SEA.

By Aurora. Lynne.

Many are the epithets that have been conferred upon the sea, and not one is out of place because of its changeableness. The sea is said to be as changeful as the heart o£ a woman, bat, being a woman myself I fail to see any resemblanca or similarity between the two. On this oint I could, however, recognise as an indisputable fact that, 41 the sea is as changeful as the heart of man 1 "'

It is this very changeful nature that makes the sea so lovable and interesting, for every day we see it in a different light. It is never the same two days running. There is always something new to contemplate, some, fresh change or freak to discover. There is always music in the sea, too— a melody and harmony of its own. Sometimes it is wild and weird, sometimes loud and striking, or it may be low and soothing— but it is always harmonious.

In, living near the sea one never experiences that utter wearines3 and lonelinesa that usually attends up-country life. This is because we have one of God's greatest beauties and wonders constantly before us. We can therefore never be dull or lonely. To-day is a lovely day. The sun is ihining brightly, and there is scarcely a breath of wind. The sea is cairn and placid, almost motionless, and with the bright sunlight streaming upon it, glistens like glass, and is fairly dazzling to the eyes. It looks very beautiful and very fascinating. Yesterday it wa3 raining, with very little wind. The water was a kind of dull, leaden grey, with little rippling, bubbling waves. This is tbe least beautiful of its moods, but even then it could not be termed ugly or uninteresting. When tbe weather is rough and Btormy the sea looks very grand and awful. To see the great waves foaming and. seething, rushing in with a mighty sweep, then rolling back, only .to come again with renewed vigour, and the white foam on the flopping water like little crowns of snow, produces a strange sensation — fear and admiration blended.

Perhaps one hardly realises the grand sublime nature of the ocean till it is seen in a storm. It is very lovely and dazzling when it is calm, but there is something appalling and commanding to behold such a vast mass boi.ing and foaming — the largo billows surg* ing and crowding ono after another, and to hear the tremendous roar as they break on the shore. There is something in its angry grandeur that compels our admiration and worship. We cannot resist its subtle power. On a quiet evening the sound of the ocean is very clear and distinct. Sometimes it sounds like the wild, weird, pained moaning of some imprisoned creature imploring to be released. At other times it seems like the roar of some c01033al beasts, or again liko the lulling murmuring of a million voices — a Babylon of confused whispera. There is something soothing about the soft flop, flop of the waves and the gentlo, ceaseless murmur of the sea. It has almost the same effect as music. Though the sea is always beautiful, the calm moonlight enhances its beauty ; it has a subtle loveliness then. In Calm. Calm, and lying so seemingly still, With tiny ripples to ruffle its face ; While tho waves upon the satidy beach Drift in and out with languid pace. Slowly they leave their comrades' side, As if afraid or unwilling to start ; But they increase their speed as they glide along, And up the beach they lightly dart. They pauso a moment to wash the Bhells, * Then back they steal in their quiet way ; Eager to tell their companions the news — They cannot linger, they must not stay. Glittering like a plain of emeralds ; . Glistening like a sheet of glass ; Delicate, soft, exquisitely tinted, Like the first tender blades of the early grass. In Storm. Thou graiul and mighty ocean ! With proud, impefiuoua motion Sweeping in with bounding stride, Rolling back in scornful pride. Tumbling billows, tipped with foam, On they rush, then back they roam ; Again they come to embrace the land ; Never pausing to stop or stand. With a might rush they bound and dash, Then over the rocks they vainly splash With a seemingly sudden endeavour To do something great or clover— Something to stir the whole creation, Something to startle every nation I But then as they break with a fruitless burst, Back they steal like a soul accursed ; Then pausing 'a moment to gather force, With a maddening cry— angry and hoarse — They charge again with reckless despair ; But the same drear fate awaits them there Yet not to be daunted again they try, •' For 'tis time to do and not to die !" Impulsive and reckless, always iv motion t Haughty, grand, yet changeful ocean ! — The terrible railway accident which occurred between Mont Parnasse and Versailles in 1842, by which 82 persons were killed andmany injured, cost in compensation alone more than L 125,000» This is i 4 the record," as sporting writers say, for French railways.