Her face was evermore unseen,
And fixt upon the far sea-line;
But each man murmured, “O my Queen,
I follow till I make thee mine!”
And now we lost her, now she gleamed
Like Fancy made of golden air.
Now nearer to the prow she seemed
Like Virtue firm, like Knowledge fair,
Now high on waves that idly burst
Like Heavenly Hope she crowned the sea,