Page:Pocahontas and Other Poems (NY).pdf/168



amid the ocean, A laden bark draws near, Through her rent sails the bleak winds moan, All heavily and drear; No light upon the headlands Illumes her dangerous way, No pilot-boat all fearless glides Like sea-bird o'er the spray.

Slow, towards a sterile region, With pain she seems to steer, No hoarded treasures in her breast, To grasping avarice dear; Yet many a noble galleon, Where Indian jewels sleep, Might pave old ocean's glittering floor, Without a loss so deep.

No broad flag proudly waveth, No banner from her mast, But many a princely argosy Might feel the wrecking blast;