thou?"

Then he of the earth's sun-traversed side
To him of the under-world replied,

"O glad mysterious face in the stream,
My lost illusion, my summer dream,

"Thou fairer self of a fonder time,
A far imperishable clime,

"For thy dear sake I have fared alone
And fronted failure and housed with none.

"What youth was that, when the world was green,
In the lovely mythus Greek and clean,

"Was doomed with his flowery kin to bide,
A blown white star by the river side,

"And no more follow the sun, foot free,
Too long enamoured of one like thee?

"Shall God who abides in the patient flower,
The painted dust sustained by his power,

"Refuse to the wing of the dragonfly
His sanction over the open sky,--

"A frail detached and wandering thing
Torn loose from the blossomy life of spring?

"And this is man, the myriad one,
Dust's flower and time's ephemeron.

"And I who have followed the wander-list
For a glimpse of beauty, a wraith in the mist,

"Shall be spilt at last and return to peace,
As dust which the hands of the wind release.

"This is my solace and my reward,
Who have drained life's dregs from a broken shard."

Wise and grave was the water face,
A youth grown man in a little space;

While the wayworn face by the river side
Grew gentler-lipped and shadowy-eyed;

For he heard like a sea-horn summoning him
That sound from the world's end vast and dim,

Where the river went wandering out so far
Through a gate in the mountain left ajar,

The sea birds love and the land birds flee,
The large bleak voice of the burly sea.

[Illustration]

_The Cruise of the Galleon_

This laboring vast, Tellurian Galleon,
Riding at anchor off the orient sun,
Had broken its cable, and stood out to space.

FRANCIS THOMPSON.

Galleon, ahoy, ahoy!
Old earth riding off the sun,
And straining at your cable as you ride
On the tide,
Battered laboring and vast,
In the blast
Of the hurricane that blows between the worlds,
Ahoy!

'Morning, shipmates! 'Drift and chartless?
Laded deep and rolling hard?
Never guessed, outworn and heartless,
There was land so close aboard?

Ice on every shroud and eyelet,
Rocking in the windy trough?
No more panic; Man's your pilot;
Turns the flood, and we are off!

At the story of disaster,
From the continents of sleep,
I am come to be your master
And put out into the deep.

What tide current struck you hither,
Beating up the storm of years?
Wher