| |
| SHE wanders up and down the main | |
| Without a master, nowhere bound; | |
| The currents turn her round and round, | |
| Her track is like a tangled skein; | |
| And never helmsman by his chart | 5 |
| So strange a way as hers may steer | |
| To enter port or to depart | |
| For any harbor far or near. | |
| |
| The waters clamor at her sides, | |
| The winds cry through her cordage torn, | 10 |
| The last sail hangs, to tatters worn; | |
| Upon the waves the vessel rides | |
| This way or that, as winds may shift, | |
| In ghastly dance when airs blow balm, | |
| Or held in a lethargic calm, | 15 |
| Or fury-hunted, wild, adrift. | |
| |
| When south winds blow, does she recall | |
| Spices and golden fruits in store? | |
| Or north winds—nets off Labrador | |
| And icebergs’ iridescent wall? | 20 |
| Or east—the isles of Indian seas? | |
| Or west—new ports and sails unfurled? | |
| Her voyages all around the world | |
| To mock her with old memories? | |
| |
| For her no light-house sheds a ray | 25 |
| Of crimson warning from its tower; | |
| No watchers wait in hope the hour | |
| To greet her coming up the bay; | |
| No trumpet speaks her, hearty, hoarse— | |
| Or if a captain hail at first, | 30 |
| He sees her for a thing accursed, | |
| And turns his own ship from her course. | |
| |
| Alone, in desperate liberty | |
| She forges on; and how she fares | |
| No man alive inquires, or cares | 35 |
| Though she were sunk beneath the sea. | |
| Her helm obeys no firm control, | |
| She drifts—a prey for storms to take, | |
| For sands to clutch, for rocks to break— | |
| A ship condemned, like a lost soul. | 40 |
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