LITMIR.BIZ

      Hills retreating on each hand

      Slowly sink into the plain;

      Solemn through the outspread land

      Rolls the river to the main.

      In the glooming of the night

      Something through the dusky air

      Doubtful glimmers, faintly white,

      But I know not what or where.

      Is it but a chalky ridge

      Bared of sod, like tree of bark?

      Or a river-spanning bridge

      Miles away into the dark?

      Or the foremost leaping waves

      Of the everlasting sea,

      Where the Undivided laves

      Time with its eternity?

      Is it but an eye-made sight,

      In my brain a fancied gleam?

      Or a faint aurora-light

      From the sun's tired smoking team?

      In the darkness it is gone,

      Yet with every step draws nigh;

      Known shall be the thing unknown

      When the morning climbs the sky!

      Onward, onward through the night

      Matters it I cannot see?

      I am moving in a might

      Dwelling in the dark and me!

      End or way I cannot lose—

      Grudge to rest, or fear to roam;

      All is well with wanderer whose

      Heart is travelling hourly home.

      Joy! O joy! the dawning sea

      Answers to the dawning sky,

      Foretaste of the coming glee

      When the sun will lord it high!

      See the swelling radiance growing

      To a dazzling glory-might!

      See the shadows gently going

      'Twixt the wave-tops wild with light!

      Hear the smiting billows clang!

      See the falling billows lean

      Half a watery vault, and hang

      Gleaming with translucent green,

      Then in thousand fleeces fall,

      Thundering light upon the strand!—

      This the whiteness which did call

      Through the dusk, across the land!

      See, a boat! Out, out we dance!

      Fierce blasts swoop upon my sail!

      What a terrible expanse—

      Tumbling hill and heaving dale!

      Stayless, helpless, lost I float,

      Captive to the lawless free!

      But a prison is my boat!

      Oh, for petrel-wings to flee!

      Look below: each watery whirl

      Cast in beauty's living mould!

      Look above: each feathery curl

      Dropping crimson, dropping gold!—

      Oh, I tremble in the flush

      Of the everlasting youth!

      Love and awe together rush:

      I am free in God, the Truth!

      Alas, 'tis cold and dark!

      The wind all night hath sung a wintry tune!

      Hail from black clouds that swallowed up the moon

      Beat, beat against my bark.

      Oh! why delays the spring?

      Not yet the sap moves in my frozen veins;

      Through all my stiffened roots creep numbing pains,

      That I can hardly cling.

      The sun shone yester-morn;

      I felt the glow down every fibre float,

      And thought I heard a thrush's piping note

      Of dim dream-gladness born.

      Then, on the salt gale driven,

      The streaming cloud hissed through my outstretched arms,

      Tossed me about in slanting snowy swarms,

      And blotted out the heaven.