sel, which
shall carry you to the mouth of the Tiber, or the port of
Genoa."

"Then you have quite merged the poet in the sailor?" said his
companion.

"Quite! quite! These hands are hard," replied the poet, gaily
exhibiting his swarthy palms; "they have tugged at other than
the cordage of a lyre. I, who used to burden the passing clouds
with many a pensive sentiment, now ask of them what weather
they predict. I, who was wont to give a thousand utterances to
the winds of heaven, enquire from what point of the compass
they are blowing. I, who could never behold the ocean without
lapsing into dreamy emotions or endless speculations, now study
its tides, and sound its shallows, and know it as the high-road
I travel on. Yes," he continued, pacing the deck with
animation, "I am no longer that commiserated mortal, whose
musing gait marks him out for the mingled ridicule and,
compassion of all observers; who burns with a passion for fame
which renders him at once the most solitary and the most
dependent of men. Me--I belong to the multitude--I am one of
themselves. They cannot point the finger at me. I am released
from that needless necessity to distinguish myself from
others--from that pledge, given unsought to a heedless world,
to leave behind an enduring memento of my existence. I can be
filled with daily life, as with daily bread. Life is indeed a
freedom--I can give _all_ to death."

"I think," said his friend with a smile, "I trace something of
the leaven of poetry even in this description of your
unpoetized condition. Fear you not that the old fever will
return?"

"No; I resist--I fly from all temptation. If leaning,
perchance, over the side of the vessel, and looking down on the
troubled water, my mind grows troubled also with agitated
thoughts, I start from the insidious posture. I find something
to tug--to haul. A rope is thrown to me, and I am saved! Or I
seize the rudder--I grasp its handle, grown smooth by its
frequent intercourse with the human palm--and, believe me,
there is a magic in its touch that brings me back instantly to
the actual world of man's wants and of man's energies. I feel
my feet press firm upon the boarded deck; I look out and around
me; and my eye surveys, and my ear listens to the plain an