| | VAST and starless, the pall of heaven |
| Laps on the trailing pall below; |
| And forward, forward, in solemn darkness, |
| As if to the sea of the lost we go. |
| |
| Now drawn nigh the edge of the river, |
| Weird-like creatures suddenly rise; |
| Shapes that fade, dissolving outlines |
| Baffle the gazer’s straining eyes. |
| |
| Towering upward and bending forward, |
| Wild and wide their arms are thrown, |
| Ready to pierce with forked fingers |
| Him who touches their realm upon. |
| |
| Tide of youth, thus thickly planted, |
| While in the eddies onward you swim, |
| Thus on the shore stands a phantom army, |
| Lining forever the channel’s rim. |
| |
| Steady, helmsman! you guide the immortal; |
| Many a wreck is beneath you piled, |
| Many a brave yet unwary sailor |
| Over these waters has been beguiled. |
| |
| Nor is it the storm or the scowling midnight, |
| Cold, or sickness, or fire’s dismay— |
| Nor is it the reef, or treacherous quicksand, |
| Will peril you most on your twisted way. |
| |
| But when there comes a voluptuous languor, |
| Soft the sunshine, silent the air, |
| Bewitching your craft with safety and sweetness, |
| Then, young pilot of life, beware. |
