What open ways before him lie!
High hills where Earth with Heav’n meets,
And shining downs where plovers cry,
Or idle towns with crooked streets.
But vain to ask which way have gone
Those vagrant feet—for no one knows
What urgent star compels him on,
Nor whence he came—nor where he goes.
HUGH CHESTERMAN
[Illustration:
The Wanderer.
]