"Dearest," said Columbus, "never
Trust a Genoese again.
At the blue he gazes ever,
Distance doth his soul enchain.
Strangeness is to me too dear--
Genoa has sunk and passed--
Heart, be cool! Hand, firmly steer!
Sea before me: land--at last?
Firmly let us plant our feet,
Ne'er can we give up this game--
From the distance what doth greet?
One death, one happiness, one fame.