_Some call it Fame or Honor--
Some call it Love or Power--
Whence running rails and bellied sails
The four-banked galleons tower.
To each the separate vision--
To each the guiding light--
Where, ’bove the dim horizon lifts
The Port o’ Lost Delight._
’Mid mighty cheers and the hope of years
They swung the good Ship free,
And with laughter brave she took the wave
Of the wonderful, whispering sea.
Over the scud of the white-capped flood--
Over the strong, young days--
Over the lift of the chaff-churned drift
And the mist of the moonlit haze--
Running the lights o’ the Ports-o’-Call,
Where the beckoning beacons shine;
But she passed them by with callous eye,
Nor saw the luring sign.
Piercing the glow of the ocean’s dawn,
As slow the seas unfold;
Scudding again across the plain
Of rippling, sunset gold.
Joyous and fair in the brine-wet air,
Where the phosphor bow-wave slips,
And the Wraiths of the Deep their secrets keep
Of the tale o’ the passing ships.