Page:Dreams and Images.djvu/114

 Away, and far away, his pride is borne, Riding the noisy morn, Plunges, and preens her wings, and laughs to know The helm and tightening halyards still Follow the urging of his will, And scoff at sullen earth a league below.

Mischance hath barred him from his heirdom high, And shackled him with many an inland tie, And of his only wisdom made a jibe Amid an alien tribe: No wave abroad but moans his fallen state, The trade-wind ranges now, the trade-wind roars! Why is it on a yellowing page he pores? Ah, why this hawser fast to a garden gate?

Thou friend so long withdrawn, so deaf, so dim, Familiar Danger, O forget not him! Repeat of thine evangel yet the whole Unto his subject soul, Who suffers no such palsy of her drouth, Nor hath so tamely worn her chain, But she may know that voice again, And shake the reefs with answer of her mouth.

O give him back, before his passion fail, The singing cordage and the hollow sail, And level with those aged eyes let be The bright unsteady sea; And move like any film from off his brain The pasture wall, the boughs that run Their evening arches to the sun, The hamlet spire across the sown champaign;