VOYAGERS

Where are they, that song and tale

Tell of? lands our childhood knew?

Sea-locked Faerylands that trail

Morning summits, dim with dew,

Crimson o'er a crimson sail.

Where in dreams we entered on

Wonders eyes have never seen:

Whither often we have gone,

Sailing a dream-brigantine

On from voyaging dawn to dawn.

Leons seeking lands of song;

Fabled fountains pouring spray;

Where our anchors dropped among

Corals of some tropic bay,

With its swarthy native throng.

Shoulder ax and arquebus!—

We may find it!— past yon range

Of sierras, vaporous,

Rich with gold and wild and strange

That lost region dear to us.

Yet, behold, although our zeal

Darien summits may subdue,

Our Balboa eyes reveal

But a vaster sea come to —

New endeavor for our keel.

Yet! who sails with face set hard

Westward,— while behind him lies

Unfaith,— where his dreams keep guard

Round it, in the sunset skies,

He may reach it — afterward.