SONGS OF FANCY: I

YOUR caravel was loosely moored,

— So lightly moored, so slightly moored,—

It ranged with every passing swell,

Your gipsy-hearted caravel

That only silken ropes secured.

I dreamt that you might slip away,

— Might slide away, might glide away,—

When I was absent, on a breeze

Enticing you to other seas

With whispers of a lovelier day.

The sirens underneath the stars,

— The flaunting stars, the haunting stars,—

Would cast adrift your mooring-rope

( Farewell, my heart! farewell, my hope! )

And stretch the sails upon your spars,

And you would sail before the wind,

— Elusive wind, delusive wind,—

All radiant on your moonlit deck,

And not a moment would you reck

Of me whom you had left behind.

You’ d come to legendary coasts,

To nameless coasts, to tameless coasts,

And hear of unimagined things:

The exploits of vainglorious kings,

Their fabled pride, and braggart boasts;

Iris you’ d meet, and Mercury,

Sweet Mercury, fleet Mercury;

You’ d see the constellations change,

You’ d pass the magnet mountain-range

That draws a ship to mystery;

You’ d see, on black basaltic rocks,

On jaggèd rocks, on craggèd rocks,

The lonely Polyphemus stand,

The scourge and terror of the land,

Amongst his decimated flocks.

You’ d turn from thence; a rainbow arc,

A magic arc, a tragic arc,

That spanned the sky from east to west

Might lure you on a dreamer’ s quest

And close for ever on your barque.

Ah God! perhaps this very night,

This hated night, this fated night,

You heard the breeze, the sirens’ spell....

I faint, I look; your caravel

In harbour still lies gold and white.