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103
TO THE YELKOWAN
Oh, ‘chaser of the wind!’ oh, Yelkowan!If thou art truly one whose soul is lost,
Pursuing, 'neath an everlasting ban,
Thy work of expiation, at the cost
Of flitting gaily through the gates of Death,
With these, thy comrades, that like living flow'rs
Scatter'd at random by the breeze's breath,
And freed from all the sorrows that are ours,
Speed o'er the changing wave the livelong day,
Joyous of heart, and ever strong of wing,
Fain would I have thee point me out the way
That led to thy delightful wandering!
104
Yet meet the mercy due to souls forgiven? . . .
Tell me thy secret, and that sweet sin's name
That barr'd the door to ev'ry other heaven
Save this bright Paradise, with blue above
And blue beneath, 'twixt banks of rosy bloom.
Tell it to me, that I may teach my love
To merit, ere too late, the lightest doom
Reserved, as yet, for the lost souls of man,
Oh, ‘chaser of the wind!’ oh, Yelkowan!
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