POETRY.
THE SHIP OF FOOLS.
WE are those fools who could not rest In the dull earth we left behind, But burned with passion for the West And drank strange frenzy from its wind.
The world where wise men live at ease Fades from our unregretful eyes, And blind across uncharted seas We stagger on our enterprise.
The beautiful fier.2e billows leap Like white-fanged wolves about our prow, Where Mary, with her Christ asleep, Is carved to hear the wanderer's vow. The thirsty decks have drunk our blood, ..
Our hands are fettered from the oar; Wan ghosts upon a spectral flood .
We drive towards a phantom shore.
Arid we have sailed in haunted seas, Dreadful with voices ; where the mast Gleamed blue with'deathlights, and the breeze Bore madness ; and have gazed aghast To see beyond our splintered spars That rattled in the wild typhoon, A heaven strange with tawny stars And monstrous with an'alien moon. '
Lean, naked, bruised, like famished slaves We shiver at the sweeps ; each one A jest fOr all the scornful waves, And food for laughter to the sun; But never voice nor deathlight flare Nor moon shall lure us with their spell; Our eyes are calm as God, and stare Defiance in the face of Hell.
The worn ship reels, but still unfurled Our tattered ensign flouts the skies ; And doomed to prudence by a world Of little men grown mean and wise, The old earth laughs for joy to find One purple folly left to her, Where glimmers down the riotous wind The flag of the adventurer !
O watchman leaning from the mast, • What of the night ? The shadows flee; The stars grow pale, the storm is past, A blood-red sunrise stains the sea.
At length, at length, 0 dauntless wills, O dreamers' hearts that naught could tame, Superb amid majestic hills The domes of Eldorado flame !
ST. JOHN LUCAS.
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