Behind him lay the gray Azores,
Behind the Gates of Hercules;
Before him not the ghost of shores,
Before him only shoreless seas.
The good mate said: "Now we must pray,
For lo, the very stars are gone.
Brave Adm'r'l speak; what shall I say?"
"Why say: 'Sail on! sail on! sail on!'"
"My men grow mutinous day by day;
My men grow ghastly wan and weak."
The stout mate thought of home; a spray
Of salt wave washed his swarthy cheek.
"What shall I say, brave Adm'r'l, say,
If we sight naught but seas at dawn?"
"Why you shall say at break of day:
'Sail on! sail on! sail on! sail on!'"
They sailed and sailed, as the winds might blow,
Until at last the blanched mate said:
"Why, not even God would know
Should I and all my men fall dead.
These very winds forget their way,
For God from these dread seas is gone.
Now speak, brave Adm'r'l; speak and say"--
He said: "Sail on! sail on! sail on!"
They sailed. They sailed. Then spake the mate:
"This mad sea shows its teeth to-night.
He curls his lips, he lies in wait,
With lifted teeth, as if to bite!
Brave Adm'r'l, say but one good word;
What shall we do when hope is gone?"
The words leapt as a leaping sword:
"Sail on! sail on! sail on! sail on!"
Then, pale and worn, he kept his deck,
And peered through darkness. Ah, that night
Of all dark nights! And then a speck--
A light! A light! A light! A light!
It grew, a starlit flag unfurled!
It grew to be Time's burst of dawn.
He gained a world; he gave that world
Its grandest lesson: "On! sail on!"
--_Joaquin Miller._
[18] In a recent critical article, in the London _Athenæum_
is the sentence: "In point of power, workmanship and
feeling, among all the poems written by Americans, we are
inclined to give first place to the 'Port of Ships' (or
'Columbus') by Joaquin Miller."