will not make haste?To change a peaceful way for one of fear,?And he who leaves this shore can ne'er return.
The warrior waves that lie in peace asleep?Upon the stilly bosom of the main,?Will don their plumes of snow when night is by,?And rise in battle 'gainst the stormy sky;?Where wilt thou hide thee from the angry deep,?Till it has sunk to silvery dreams again?
THE ANSWER.
I may escape, for others have before,?Why should I fear to view the storm-cloud's form??I answered to the Voice. In One I trust,?Upon whose blazing path the clouds are dust,?Why should I cower 'neath the whirlwind's roar??God's chariot is the whirlwind and the storm.
The thunder of the deep will be my psalm,?And e'en the crested wave, that totters o'er?My way, will seem an emerald arbor fair,?With portals of bluebells and lilies rare;?For Fancy knoweth not of storm or calm,?It dreameth but of beauty evermore.
THE VOICE.
Yet 'tis a weary way, the Voice replied,?A trackless way of danger and of care;?And from thy cheek, ere tho the Headland find,?The rose will yield its petals to the wind;?And from thy heart an adverse cruel tide?Will steal the dream of hope, and leave--despair.
Consider too, O youth, Earth is a sphere,?And he who journeys to the verge of age,?But comes at eve to where he left at morn,?But views at last the hearth where he was born,?But learns, the bright horizon ne'er draws near?The circle climbers of life's pilgrimage.
Think well, again, thou mayst forever part?From pleasure, seeking pleasure o'er the main.?The good of life--such is the human lot--?Seems only good to those who have it not.?Joy, smiling, opes the portals of the heart.?But when he enters, Lo! his name is Pain.
Nothing but rest can satisfy thy thirst?For happiness. Hast thou on land or sea?Found what was not a weariness at last,?And shall to-morrow cheat thee as the past??The glowing bubbles of the future burst,?Touched by the finger-tip of Memory.
Thou art a poet, yet perchance may find?The birds will carol more delicious lays;?Thy waves of song may melt in melody,?Yet softer is the music of the sea.?Thou canst not rhyme so sweetly as the wind,?And nature is too subtile for thy phrase.
But leaning on the muffled harp of thought,?Here sweet for thee will sigh the summer wind,?And dreamful will the rhythm of the deep?Upon the shore of silver fall asleep.?Nor wilt thou miss what thou has never sought,?Nor seek what men at last have failed to find.
Yet if thou wilt not heed our counsel sage,?If still thou dost our warning cry despise,?Yon barge will bear thee from these happy shores.?Behold its silken sail, its crew, the oars,?And thou its prow, thro' calm and tempest rage,?Mayst guide in peace at last--if thou art wise.
Thus speaks the Voice to every child, but yet?Youth evermore to Hope will loyal be.?Impatiently I listened to the strain,?Then turned me to the Headland once again,?Which in the early morning light was set?An emerald in a golden ring of sea.
II.--YOUTH.
The slow long wave crept up the ocean marge,?To steal the silver sparkle of the sand;?Then lapsing from the shore, I scarce could feel?Its soft pulsations underneath the keel,?As I sat patiently within the barge,?Until the breeze should bear me from the land.
And as I waited, lo! the morning sun?Rose golden on the misty eastern sky,?And through the rosy dells the sunbeams bright?Stole from the flowers the jewels of the night;?But yet no seaward zephyr had begun?To fill the canvas drooping listlessly.
I saw an aged man upon the shore,?There was a kindly smile upon his face?As thus he spake to me--"Here have I dwelt?For centuries, yet I have never felt?The winds of heaven upon my forehead, nor?Will they e'er visit this spell-haunted place.
Your gaily-painted barge will wait in vain?For favoring winds to fill its silken sail.?If you would ever leave these drowsy shores?Your crew must sweep the waters from their oars.?To win the Blessed Headland o'er the main,?But tireless strength and effort will avail."
I gazed adown the barge; the silent men?Toyed with their oars, awaiting my command;?The first was "Courage"--quick to see and dare,?And next came "Patience," he as ready e'er?To calm an angry brow to peace, and then?Came "Justice"--"Knowledge" sat at his right hand.
I held the rudder. No hand but mine own?Could guide the mystic barge across the sea.?But in the bow stood "Faith," whose vision keen?Discerns what mortal eye hath never seen,?And when a mist across the deep is blown,?Sendeth sweet messages of hope to me.
Why tarry ye, O men? the way is long?To yonder hazy Headland's wave-worn base.?We wait in vain for favoring winds to blow,?'Tis yours to pull the oars. Row, bravely, row,?Keep even stroke, ye merry hearts, with song,?And lead the swift sea-birds a winning race.
The willing oarsmen heard the words, and bent?Them to the toil; but "Knowledge" had not heard,?And still he dreamed upon
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