Chapter XLI

’Tis not our aim to tell of voyage long,
Of storms and struggles on the wintry seas,
Of harbourage and waiting in its course,
Mid sheltered inlets upon Ireland’s shores,
Though full of hardship, yet it would not please,
And we must draw to close our lengthy song.

But I have seen full many a ship depart,
Receding into dimness gray and cold,
Then slip away, lost in a mighty void;--
And in my musings I have tugged and toyed
With memories of friends, or what they told,
In words that strayed from an unguarded heart.

For “wise words” are, sometimes, but foolish mumbling,
And critic’s arrogance a dark conceit,
While silence often has the truest depth;
But when the child, which in thy bosom slept,
Awakes to speak, a morning light doth greet
The restless trav’ler in his painful stumbling.

For there are seas, and many a distant shore,
And life is but a journey and a fight,
Amid the mighty elements at war;--
But by-and-by the pilgrimage is o’er,
And when the peaceful harbor is in sight,
Love’s word alone can ope the Palace-door.