e Vega of Granada, April 17, 1492.

COLUMBUS, THE SEA-KING.

THOMAS CARLYLE, "the Sage of Chelsea," celebrated English
philosophic writer. Born at Ecclefechan, Scotland, December 4,
1795; died at Cheyne walk, Chelsea, London, February 5, 1881. From
"Past and Present."

Brave Sea-captain, Norse Sea-king, Columbus, my hero, royalest Sea-king
of all! it is no friendly environment this of thine, in the waste deep
waters; around thee, mutinous, discouraged souls; behind thee, disgrace
and ruin; before thee, the unpenetrated veil of Night. Brother, these
wild water-mountains, bounding from their deep basin--ten miles deep, I
am told--are not entirely there on thy behalf! Meseems they have other
work than floating thee forward; and the huge winds that sweep from Ursa
Major to the Tropics and Equator, dancing their giant waltz through the
kingdoms of Chaos and Immensity, they care little about filling rightly
or filling wrongly the small shoulder-of-mutton sails in this
cockle-skiff of thine. Thou art not among articulate-speaking friends,
my brother; thou art among immeasurable dumb monsters, tumbling,
howling, wide as the world here. Secret, far off, invisible to all
hearts but thine, there lies a help in them; see how thou wilt get at
that. Patiently thou wilt wait till the mad southwester spend itself,
saving thyself by dextrous science of defense the while; valiantly, with
swift decision, wilt thou strike in, when the favoring east, the
Possible, springs up. Mutiny of men thou wilt entirely repress;
weakness, despondency, thou wilt cheerily encourage; thou wilt swallow
down complaint, unreason, weariness, weakness of others and thyself.
There shall be a depth of silence in thee deeper than this sea, which is
but ten miles deep; a silence unsoundable, known to God only. Thou shalt
be a great man. Yes, my World-soldier, thou wilt have to be greater than
this tumultuous, unmeasured world here around thee; thou, in thy strong
soul, as with wrestler's arms, shalt embrace it, harness it down, and
make it bear thee on--to new Americas.

OUTBOUND.

BLISS CARMAN, from a poem in the _Century Magazine_, 1892.[30]

A lonely sail in the vast sea-room,
I have put out for the port of gloom.

The voyage is far on the trackless tide,
The watch is long, and the seas are wide.

The headlands, blue in the sinking day,
Kiss me a hand on the outward way.

The fading gulls, as they dip and v