Page:Oxford Book of English Verse 1250-1900.djvu/880

 But the heaving sea was black behind For many a night and many a day, And land, though but a rock, drew nigh So we broke the cedar pales away, Let the purple awning flap in the wind, And a statue bright was on every deck! We shouted, every man of us, And steer'd right into the harbour thus, With pomp and pæan glorious.

A hundred shapes of lucid stone! All day we built its shrine for each, A shrine of rock for every one, Nor paused till in the westering sun We sat together on the beach To sing because our task was done; When lo! what shouts and merry songs! What laughter all the distance stirs! A loaded raft with happy throngs Of gentle islanders! 'Our isles are just at hand,' they cried, 'Like cloudlets faint in even sleeping; Our temple-gates are open'd wide, Our olive-groves thick shade are keeping For these majestic forms'—they cried. O, then we awoke with sudden start From our deep dream, and knew, too late, How bare the rock, how desolate, Which had received our precious freight: Yet we call'd out—'Depart! Our gifts, once given, must here abide: Our work is done; we have no heart To mar our work,'—we cried.