There I saw, in distant moorings, many an anchored vessel tall;
Heard with cheery morning voices sailor unto sailor call.
Crowned with trailing plumes of sable, right afront my standing-place
Moved a swarthy ocean-steamer in her storm-resisting grace.
Prophet-like, she clove the waters toward the ancient mother-land,
And I heard her clamorous engine and the echo of command,
While the long Atlantic billows to my feet came rolling on,
With the multitudinous music of a thousand ages gone.
There I stood, with careless ankles half in sand and half in spray,
Till the baleful mist of midnight from my being passed away;