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THE VOYAGER

I

Friend, why goest thou forth
When ice-hills drift from the north
And crush together?”
“The Voice that me doth call
Heeds not the ice-hill's fall,
Nor wind, nor weather.”

107

II

“But, friend, the night is black;
Behold the driving rack
And wild seas under!”
“My straight and narrow bark
Fears not the threatening dark,
Nor storm, nor thunder.”

III

“But O, thy children dear!
Thy wife,—she is not here,—
I haste to bring her!”
“No, no, it is too late!
Hush, hush! I may not wait,
Nor weep, nor linger.”

IV

“Hark! Who is he that knocks
With slow and dreadful shocks
The walls to sever?”
“It is my Master's call,
I go, whate'er befall;
Farewell forever.”