Page:Poems of nature, Thoreau, 1895.djvu/65

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all the Fates should prove unkind,

Leave not your native land behind.

The ship, becalmed, at length stands still;

The steed must rest beneath the hill;

But swiftly still our fortunes pace

To find us out in every place.

The vessel, though her masts be firm,

Beneath her copper bears a worm;

Around the Cape, across the Line,

Till fields of ice her course confine;

It matters not how smooth the breeze,

How shallow or how deep the seas,