’Mid mighty cheers and the hope of years
They swung the good Ship free,
And with laughter brave she took the wave
Of the wonderful, whispering sea.
Over the scud of the white-capped flood—
Over the strong, young days—
Over the lift of the chaff-churned drift
And the mist of the moonlit haze—
Running the lights o’ the Ports-o’-Call,
Where the beckoning beacons shine;
But she passed them by with callous eye,
Nor saw the luring sign.
Piercing the glow of the ocean’s dawn,
As slow the seas unfold;
Scudding again across the plain
Of rippling, sunset gold.
Joyous and fair in the brine-wet air,
Where the phosphor bow-wave slips,
And the Wraiths of the Deep their secrets keep
Of the tale o’ the passing ships.
II
Till there lifted a wondrous Haven
Across the swinging main,
As ne’er before had lifted—
Nor e’er might lift again.
Clear it shone, each gleaming stone,
Mystic, white and far,
Castle and tree above the sea
Where the lilac combers are.
And over all there came a call,
As a Siren’s soft refrain—
Nor ever a helm to guide her,
The Good Ship turned again.
Swift o’er the back-set breakers
She plunged against the wind,
And never a look to left or right,
And never a thought behind: