DROPPING THE PILOT.
Great Pilot, whom so many storms have tried,
To see thee quit the helm at last, at last,
And slow descend that vessel's stately side,
Whilst yet waves surge and skies are overcast,
Wakes wondering memories of that mighty past,
Shaped by a guiding hand,
Strong to direct as strenuous to command.
When yet did a great ship on the great sea
Drop Pilot like to thee?
The "wakeful Palinurus" of old song
Drowsed at the last, and floods his corpse did whelm;
But thou hast ever been alert as strong,
Pilot who never slumbered at the helm.
Impetuous youth aspires to rear a realm,
And the State-bark to steer
In other fashion. Is it faith or fear
Fills the old Pilot's spirit as he moves
Slow from the post he loves?
No "branch in Lethe dipped by Morpheus" slacks
This Pilot's sight, or vanquishes his force.
The ship he leaves may steer on other tacks;
Will the new Palinurus hold her course
With hand as firm and skill of such resource?
He who, Æneas-like,
Now takes the helm himself, perchance may strike
On sunken shoals, or wish, on the wild main,
The old Pilot back again.
These things are on the knees of the great gods;
But, hap what hap, that slow-descending form,
Which oft hath stood with winds and waves at odds,
And almost single-handed braved the storm,
Shows an heroic shape; and high hearts warm
To that stout grim-faced bulk
Of manhood looming large against the hulk
Of the great Ship, whose course, at fate's commands,
He leaves to lesser hands!