III.

Wing-footed! thou abid'st with him Who asks it not; but he who hath Watched o'er the waves thy fading path Shall nevermore on ocean's rim, At morn or eve, behold returning Thy high-heaped canvas shoreward yearning! Thou first reveal'st to us thy face Turned o'er the shoulder's parting grace, A moment glimpsed, then seen no more,-- Thou whose swift footsteps we can trace Away from every mortal door!