The Downing legends : Stories in Rhyme :: :: University of Virginia Library

A spoil of Afric shells and whorls;
Embroidered bags of Persian pearls;
Cathayan pipes with ivory stems;
Arabian falchions sheathed in gems;
The glossy bars of an argent mine,
And caskets brimmed with brilliants fine;
A hundred leathern sacks, or more,
Of gold in sequins, gold in ore;
Sandal coffers of Indian shawls;
Ebony thrones from Java's halls;
Opulent bales of silver braid
And sheeny silk and stiff brocade;
The spice and gums and healing balms
Of sunny islands clothed in palms;
While aloes, frankincense and cloves
Exhaled a steam of tropic groves.

All these he saw and coveted.
For Downing? No! No miser he!
He sued for starving ranks that bled
In shoonless feet beyond the sea.
Yea, high and noble were his longings
To raise a loan on these belongings,
And pay our troops in money minted,
Instead of money merely printed.

But no! The Wanderer of Time
Had done with battle's flame and grime.
In vain might glory's trumpet sound;
He answered, “I am homeward bound,”
And, speaking thus, would calmly raise
His brow with such a far-off gaze

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As often glorifies the eye
Of mortal who is near to die.

Moreover, Downing's child began
To love this sorrow-hunted man,
As angels love a mourning soul;
So tender-swift to spare him dole
That ever, when her sire might dare
Renew his plea for martial ware
She checked his zeal with silent prayer;
She hushed him, though he never heard
From those seraphic lips a word.

So, onward over shining seas,
Without a sail, against the breeze,
The lonely, wizard vessel flew,
No longer thrust before a crew
Of tempest-fiends, but gently pressed
From hailing crest to hailing crest
By loving wings unseen of men.
The very galleon seemed to ken
That now at last she neared her home
And presently might cease to roam;
For all about her prow she sang,
And carols round her rudder rang,
And every rope had tuneful lips;
She was the joyfullest of ships
That ever ploughed a gladsome wave,
Although she flew to find a grave.