XXVIII.

Pass we the long unvarying course, the track Oft trod, that never leaves a trace behind; Pass we the calm--the gale--the change--the tack, And each well known caprice of wave and wind; Pass we the joys and sorrows sailors find, Cooped in their wingéd sea-girt citadel; The foul--the fair--the contrary--the kind-- As breezes rise and fall and billows swell, Till on some jocund morn--lo, Land! and All is well!