For he had sailed six thousand years, And I thought that we, in my little boat, The stores I took were plentiful: And the honey that was hoarded up "Now steer away, thou helmsman good, To the charmèd Isle of the Seven Kings, He spread the sail, he took the helm; We had sailed a league, we had reached the isle That lay in the golden mist. The charmèd Isle of the Seven Kings, "Tis a place of wondrous spell; And all that happed unto me there In a printed book I'll tell. Said I, one day, to the Nautilus, As we stood on the strand, "Unmoor my ship, thou helmsman good, And steer me back to land; "For my mother, I know, is sick at heart, And longs my face to see. Art slow to sail with me? Up! do my will; the wind is fresh, So set the vessel free." He turned the helm; away we sailed And on we went for seven days, Down and down went the setting sun, On a smooth, descending sea we sailed, My brain grew sick, for I saw we sailed "Good friend," said I to the Nautilus, So on we went; but soon I heard And on and on flew the little bark, And I saw, in a moment, we must hang I snatched down the sails, I snapped the ropes, I broke the masts in twain; But on flew the bark and 'gainst the rocks "Thou steered us wrong, thou helmsman vile!" Said I to the Nautilus bold; "We shall down the gulf; we're dead men both! Dost know the course we hold?" I seized the helm with a sudden jerk, And we wheeled round like a bird; But I saw the Gulf of Eternity, And the tideless waves I heard. "Good master," said the Nautilus, "I thought you might desire To have some wondrous thing to tell Beside your mother's fire. "What's sailing on a summer sea? Oh, but I know a thousand things "And if you wish to see them now, "Have done!" said I, "thou mariner old, I looked up to the lady moon, She was like a glow-worm's spark; And never a star shone down to us Through the sky so high and dark. We had no mast, we had no ropes, And every sail was rent; And the stores I brought from the charmèd isle But the Nautilus was a patient thing, On the up-hill sea; and he never slept, And for thrice seven nights we sailed and sailed; Where I built my ship, and my mother's house "Farewell!" said I to the Nautilus, But I'll sail with thee no more!" BURIAL OF SIR JOHN MOORE. CHARLES WOLFE. Not a drum was heard, nor a funeral note, |