Light and life about him shed--
A transcendent vision!

Mailed in gold and fire he stands,
And, with splendours shaken,
Bids the slumbering seas and lands
Quicken and awaken.

Day is on us. Dreams are dumb,
Thought has light for neighbour;
Room! The rival giants come--
Lo, the Sun and Labour!

After witnessing that lordly spectacle, who can wonder at Zoroaster? As
the lights from east and west meet and mingle, and the sky rears its
blue immensity, it is hard to look on for very gladness.

I shall suppose that we are on a small vessel--for, if we sail in a
liner, or even in an ordinary big steamer, it is somewhat like moving
about on a floating factory. The busy life of a sailor begins, for Jack
rarely has an idle minute while he is on deck. Landsmen can call in help
when their house needs repairing, but sailors must be able to keep every
part of _their_ house in perfect order; and there is always something to
be done. But we are lazy; we toil not, neither do we tar ropes, and our
main business is to get up a thoroughly good appetite while we watch the
deft sailor-men going about their business. It is my belief that a
landsman might spend a month without a tedious hour, if he would only
take the trouble to watch everything that the men do and find out why it
is done. Ages on ages of storm and stress are answerable for the most
trifling device that the sailor employs. How many and many lives were
lost before the Norsemen learned to support the masts of their winged
dragons by means of bull's-hide ropes! How many shiploads of men were
laid at the mercy of the travelling seas before the Scandinavians
learned to use a fixed rudder instead of a huge oar! Not a bolt or rope
or pulley or eyelet-hole has been fixed in our vessel save through the
bitter experience of centuries; one might write a volume about that
mainsail, showing how its rigid, slanting beauty and its tremendous
power were gradually attained by evolution from the ugly square lump of
matting which swung from the masthead of Mediterranean craft. But we
must not philosophise; we must enjoy. The fresh morning breeze runs
merrily over the ripples and plucks off their crests; our vessel leans
prettily, and you hear a tinkling hiss as she shears through the lovely
green hillocks. Sometimes she thrusts away a burst of spray, and in the
midst of the white spurt there shines a rainbow. It may happen that t