Those golden days for them shall dawn, Transcending aught we gaze upon. ELLEN MACKAY HUTCHINSON. [U. s. A.] A CRY FROM THE SHORE. COME down, ye graybeard mariners, The morning winds are up, - the gods "We may not tell thee where to sail, Nor what the dangers are; Each sailor soundeth for himself; Each hath a separate star: Each sailor soundeth for himself, And on the awful sea What we have learned is ours alone; Come back, O ghostly mariners, Say what my fate shall beQuick! for the mighty winds are up, And will not wait for me. |