her seemed to thunder
Questions, wherein was repeated,
"Christ or Cain?" and "God or beast?"
And the Future, shadowy-sheeted,
Turning, pointed towards the East.

THE ISLE OF VOICES.

The wind blew free that morn that we,
High-hearted, sailed away;
Bound for Favonian islands blest,
Remote within the utmost West,
Beyond the golden day.

There, we were told, each dream of old,
Each deed and dream of youth,
Each myth of life's divinest prime,
And every romance, dear to time,
Put on immortal truth.

The love undone, the aim unwon,
The hope that turned despair;
The thought unborn; the dream that died;
The unattained, unsatisfied,
Should be accomplished there.

So we believed. And, undeceived,
A little crew set sail;
A little crew with hearts as stout
As any yet that faced a doubt
And tore away its veil.

And time went by; and sea and sky
Had worn our masts and decks;
When, lo! one morn with canvas torn,
A phantom ship, we came forlorn
Into the Sea of Wrecks.

There, day and night, the mist lay white,
And pale stars shone at noon;
The sea around was foam and fire,
And overhead hung wan a wire,
A will-o'-wisp of moon.

And through the mist, all white and whist,
Gaunt ships, with sea-weed wound,
With rotting masts, upon whose spars
The corposants lit spectre stars,
Sailed by without a sound.

And all about,--now in, now out,--
Their ancient hulls was shed
The worm-like glow of green decay,
That writhed and glimmered in the gray
Of canvas overhead.

And each that passed, in hull and mast,
Seemed that wild ship that flees
Before the tempest--seamen tell--
Deep-cargoed with the curse of Hell,
Through roaring night and seas.

Ay! many a craft we left abaft
Upon that haunted sea;
But never a hulk that clewed a sail,
Or waved a hand, or answered hail,
And never a man saw we.

At last we came where--pouring flame--
In darkness and in storm,
A vast volcano westward reared
An awful summit, lava-seared,
Like some terrific arm.

And we could feel beneath our keel
The ocean throb and swell,
As if the Earthquake there uncoiled
Its monster bulk, or Titans toiled
At the red heart of Hell.

Like madmen now we turned our prow
North, towards an ocean weird
Of Northern Lights and icy blasts;
And for ten mo