English should have written so little poetry of a high qua Uty, about the sea and its sailors until comparatively recent times. It might be said that until the end of the eighteenth century our poets hardly saw the beauty of the sea, though they felt its terror. We have poems, such as Donne s Storm and Calm, expressing its horrors and its desolation; and later we have poems, like Falconer s Shipwreck, expressing its force and fury. These, in their way, are excellent, but they are not exhaustive. They recognise and make significant the grimmest aspects, and only those, of the sea, and of the life of its followers. In this they are not singular. In their loathing of the waters and of sea life they resemble most early Eng Ush sea poetry. Nearly all the English poets, from Chaucer to Keats, have a dislike for, or a dread of, the sea, and a hatred of sea-life and no high opinion of sailors. Chaucer, says someone, dismisses the sea with a shudder. He accepts the Shipman as a roadmate, and describes him with delicate art, but he describes him as a ruffian who would rather break cargo than be sober, and to whom the ginger that is hot in the mouth is the one thing worth praying for of all the things in the world. Gower, his follower, seldom leaves dry land ;though for a page or so he sings gracefully about theS
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