All crimson and gold is the glowing west;[263]
And wheeling and soaring the eagles[264] call.
The good ship[265] rides with a filling sail;
The sailors are crying, “Away! away!
We must stem the tide ere the North wind fail;
The night and the breeze brook no delay.”
The young mate lingers upon the strand[266]
Near a dusky maiden with flushing cheek;
In his broad brown palm he holds her hand,
And eager and low are the words they speak.