At times the whole sea burn'd, at times
With wakes of fire we tore the dark;
At times a carven craft would shoot
From havens hid in fairy bowers,
With naked limbs and flowers and fruit,
But we nor paused for fruit nor flowers.

VIII.

For one fair Vision ever fled

Down the waste waters day and night,
And still we follow'd where she led,
In hope to gain upon her flight.
Her face was evermore unseen,
And fixt upon the far sea-line;
But each man murmur'd 'O my Queen,
I follow till I make thee mine.'

IX.

And now we lost her, now she gleam'd
Like Fancy made of golden air,
Now nearer to the prow she seem'd
Like Virtue firm, like Knowledge fair,

Now high on waves that idly burst

Like Heavenly Hope she crown'd the sea, And now, the bloodless point reversed, She bore the blade of Liberty.

X.

And only one among us - him

- he was seldom pleased:

We pleased not
He saw not far: his eyes were dim :

But ours he swore were all diseased.

'A ship of fools' he shriek'd in spite,

A ship of fools' he sneer'd and wept.
And overboard one stormy night

He cast his body, and on we swept.

XI.

And never sail of ours was furl'd,
Nor anchor dropt at eve or morn;
We loved the glories of the world,

But laws of nature were our scorn;
For blasts would rise and rave and cease,
But whence were those that drove the sail
Across the whirlwind's heart of peace,
And to and thro' the counter-gale?

XII.

Again to colder climes we came,

For still we follow'd where she led :
Now mate is blind and captain lame,
And half the crew are sick or dead.
But blind or lame or sick or sound
We follow that which flies before:
We know the merry world is round,
And we may sail for evermore.

A

IN THE VALLEY OF CAUTERETZ.

LL along the valley, stream that flashest white,

Deepening thy voice with the deepening of the night,

All along the valley, where thy waters flow,

I walk'd with one I loved two and thirty years ago.

All along the valley while I walk'd to-day,

The two and thirty years were a mist that rolls away; For all along the valley, down thy rocky bed

Thy living voice to me was as the voice of the dead, And all along the valley, by rock and cave and tree, The voice of the dead was a living voice to me.

THE FLOWER.

NCE in a golden hour

ΟΝ

I cast to earth a seed.
Up there came a flower,
The people said, a weed.

To and fro they went

Thro' my garden-bower,
And muttering discontent
Cursed me and my flower.

Then it grew so tall

It wore a crown of light,
But thieves from o'er the wall
Stole the seed by night.

Sow'd it far and wide

By every town and tower,
Till all the people cried
'Splendid is the flower.'

Read my little fable:

He that runs may read.
Most can raise the flowers now,

For all have got the seed.

And some are pretty enough,
And some are poor indeed;
And now again the people

Call it but a weed.

REQUIESCAT.

AIR is her cottage in its place,

FAIR

Where yon broad water sweetly slowly glides.

It sees itself from thatch to base

Dream in the sliding tides.

And fairer she, but ah how soon to die!

Her quiet dream of life this hour may cease.

Her peaceful being slowly passes by

To some more perfect peace.

THE SAILOR-BOY.

HE rose at dawn and, fired with hope,

Shot o'er the seething harbor-bar,

And reach'd the ship and caught the rope,`
And whistled to the morning star.

And while he whistled long and loud
He heard a fierce mermaiden cry,
'O Boy, tho' thou art young and proud,
I see the place where thou wilt lie.

'The sands and yeasty surges mix

In caves about the dreary bay,
And on thy ribs the limpet sticks,

And in thy heart the scrawl shall play.'

'Fool,' he answer'd, 'death is sure

To those that stay and those that roam,
But I will nevermore endure

To sit with empty hands at home.

'My mother clings about my neck,

My sisters crying "stay for shame ;'

My father raves of death and wreck,

They are all to blame, they are all to blame.

'God help me! save I take my part

Of danger on the roaring sea,

A devil rises in my heart,

Far worse than any death to me.'

'W

THE ISLET.

HITHER O whither love shall we go,

For a score of sweet little summers or so'

The sweet little wife of the singer said,

On the day that follow'd the day she was wed,
Whither O whither love shall we go?'

And the singer shaking his curly head
Turn'd as he sat, and struck the keys
There at his right with a sudden crash,
Singing, and shall it be over the seas
With a crew that is neither rude nor rash,