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OVER THE SEA OUR GALLEYS WENT" Over the sea our galleys wentWith cleaving prows in order braveTo a speeding wind and a bounding wave--A gallant armament; 20Each bark built out of a forest-treeLeft leafy and rough as first it grew,And nailed all over the gaping sides,Within and without, with black bull-hides,Seethed in fat and suppled in flame, 25To bear the playful billows' game.So each good ship was rude to see,Rude and bare to the outward view,But each upbore a stately tentWhere cedar pales in scented row 30Kept out the flakes of the dancing brine,And an awning drooped the mast below,In fold on fold of the purple fine,That neither noontide nor starshineNor moonlight cold which maketh mad, 35Might pierce the regal tenement.When the sun dawned, oh, gay and gladWe set the sail and plied the oar;But when the night-wind blew like breath,For joy of one day's voyage more, 40We sang together on the wide sea,Like men at peace on a peaceful shore;Each sail was loosed to the wind so free,Each helm made sure by the twilight star,And in a sleep as calm as death, 45We, the voyagers from afar,Lay stretched along, each weary crewIn a circle round its wondrous tentWhence gleamed soft light and curled rich scent,And with light and perfume, music too. 50So the stars wheeled round, and the darkness passed,And at morn we started beside the mast,And still each ship was sailing fast. Now one morn land appeared--a speckDim trembling betwixt sea and sky. 55"Avoid it," cried our pilot, "checkThe shout, restrain the eager eye!"But the heaving sea was black behindFor many a night and many a day,And land, though but a rock, drew nigh; 60So we broke the cedar pales away,Let the purple awning flap in the wind,And a statue bright was on every deck!We shouted, every man of us,And steered right into the harbor thus, 65With pomp and pæan glorious. A hundred shapes of lucid stone!All day we built its shrine for each,A shrine of rock for everyone,Nor paused till in the westering sun 70We sat together on the beachTo sing because our task was done.When lo! what shouts and merry songs!What laughter all the distance stirs!A loaded raft with happy throngs 75Of gentle islanders!"Our isles are just at hand," they cried,"Like cloudlets faint in even sleeping;Our temple-gates are opened wide,Our olive-groves thick shade are keeping 80For these majestic forms"--they cried.Oh, then we awoke with sudden startFrom our deep dream, and knew, too late,How bare the rock, how desolate,Which had received our precious freight. 85Yet we called out--"Depart!Our gifts once given must here abide.Our work is done; we have no heartTo mar our work"--we cried.
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