The breakers dash, the breakers boom,
Upon the beaches ceaselessly;
Beyond the line of flying spume
Stretch weltering wastes of sea.

There gray gulls hold their loud carouse,
The four great winds rejoice or mourn,
There go deep barques, with plunging prows,
On far adventures borne.

That one, with streaming pennon, seeks
The golden gates that guard the morn,
That one the perilous island peaks
Beyond the stormy Horn.

My fancy sails with each and all,
Unleashed, untrammeled, unconfined;
There is no bond, there is no thrall,
Can chain the roving mind!



THE MIST BARQUE


Over the wave-rim faint and far
(Spectral sail and ghostly spar)
Through the mist-banks a vessel glides