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261

VI. MIDNIGHT AT THE HELM

What see'st thou, friend?
The frail masts bend,
Thy ship reels wildly on the tossing deep;
Thy fearless eyes
Regard the skies
And this broad waste wherethrough white chargers leap;
See'st thou the foam?”
Pilot.—
“I see my home,
And children on a white soft couch asleep.”
“What see'st thou, friend?
The tiller-end
Thou graspest safely in thy firm strong grip;
Thine eyes are strange,
They seem to range

262

Beyond sea, sky, and cloud, and struggling ship,
Beyond the foam.”

Pilot.—
“I see my home,—
Brown cottage-eaves round which the swallows dip.”
“What see'st thou, friend?
Black leagues extend
On all sides round about thy bark and thee;
Not one star-speck
Above the deck
Abates the darkness of the midnight sea;
The waves' throats roar—”

Pilot.—
“I see the shore,
And eyes that plead with God for mine and me.”