{ title: 'Hobart herald. (Geneva, N.Y.) 1879-1942, November 01, 1893, Page 21, Image 21', download_links: [ { link: 'http://www.loc.gov/rss/ndnp/ndnp.xml', label: 'application/rss+xml', meta: 'News about NYS Historic Newspapers - RSS Feed', }, { link: '/lccn/np00050002/1893-11-01/ed-1/seq-21/png/', label: 'image/png', meta: '', }, { link: '/lccn/np00050002/1893-11-01/ed-1/seq-21.pdf', label: 'application/pdf', meta: '', }, { link: '/lccn/np00050002/1893-11-01/ed-1/seq-21/ocr.xml', label: 'application/xml', meta: '', }, { link: '/lccn/np00050002/1893-11-01/ed-1/seq-21/ocr.txt', label: 'text/plain', meta: '', }, ] }
Image provided by: Hobart and William Smith Colleges
ON CASCO BAY. 107 & n C a s c o H E shores of New England ! Its bold promontories, bristling with granite monuments of glacial ages, where the wHite-fringed billows rage and w a il; its embracing bays and sunlit coves, where earth and water meet, and say, hail, brother ! The sea, its changing robes, now blue and white, now green, now gray, or red and gold, with the lilies o f sunset. One lies beside the sea, and listens to the roar of each, breaker, as it rushes forward and sinks under the increasing load of foam ; to the hiss of the gentle surge that, following, moves up the strand ; to the far-off boom ing o f the ocean against the rocks. A s evening draws near, he watches the red, fiery eye o f the lighthouse, as it flashes intermittently ; l i e listens to the low, sepulchral note of the fog-horn, which fills him with melancholy awe. A narrow promontory projects into Casco Bay. To one on the extrem ity comes a sense of isolation, of the eternal vastness of s k y and sea. Rocks toward the land, with here and there a patch of brownish grass or stunted bush ; rocks toward the sea, covered with slimy seaweed. Foam, white, flashing, as a bar o f sunlight falls on it through dark clouds. Tossing waves spread as far as- the eye reaches, and only flecks of white relieve the treacherous, unearthly green. Clouds, dark and broken, are overhead. A storm has swept the coast, and the fury of the sea has not subsided. hook ! On the horizon a ship o f gold tosses on tlie gloom y tide and lights up the scene. Mysterious ship ! A r t thou a phantom, gleaming with such strange brilliancy, when all around is dark and wild ? Does the air which fans mortal cheek also embrace thy outspread sails? Or art thou a creation of the Beyond, to fade again into the realms of shadow? . . . It disappears ; the bar of light which illuminated it is gone, perhaps ; but on the mind of one remains a vague sensation of lingering 011 the confines of the unknown, and the waves acquire new awe. On rushes a giant surge with the speed of the wind-driven clouds above; it rushes on, bearing power inconceivable— before, yawn the grim faces of the crags, left by t h e receding water. T h e heart of ISTew England is laid bare before the approaching giant. A n awful instant— man holds his breath — they meet. The rocks seem to reel and totter ; yet they stand f a s t ; Nep tune is vanquished, hurled o ff; a Cyclopean roar o f impotent rage bursts forth
