ARGONAUTS

With argosies of dawn he sails,

And triremes of the dusk,

The Seas of Song, whereon the gales

Are myths that trail wild musk.

He hears the hail of Siren bands

From headlands sunset-kissed;

The Lotus-eaters wave pale hands

Within a land of mist.

For many a league he hears the roar

Of the Symplegades;

And through the far foam of its shore

The Isle of Sappho sees.

All day he looks, with hazy lids,

At gods who cleave the deep;

All night he hears the Nereïds

Sing their wild hearts asleep.

When heaven thunders overhead,

And hell upheaves the Vast,

Dim faces of the ocean's dead

Gaze at him from each mast.

He but repeats the oracle

That bade him first set sail;

And cheers his soul with, “All is well!

Go on! I will not fail.”

Behold! he sails no earthly bark

And on no earthly sea,

Who down the years into the dark,—

Divine of destiny,—

Holds to his purpose,— ships of Greece,—

Ideal-steered afar,

For whom awaits the Golden Fleece,

The fame that is his star.