Full short his journey was; no dust
Of earth unto his sandals clave;
The weary weight that old men must,
He bore not to the grave. 
He seemed a cherub who had lost his way 100
And wandered hither, so his stay
With us was short, and ’t was most meet
That he should be no delver in earth’s clod,
Nor need to pause and cleanse his feet
To stand before his God: 
Oh blest word—­Evermore!

THE SIRENS

  The sea is lonely, the sea is dreary,
The sea is restless and uneasy;
Thou seekest quiet, thou art weary,
Wandering thou knowest not whither;—­
Our little isle is green and breezy,
Come and rest thee!  Oh come hither,
Come to this peaceful home of ours,
    Where evermore
The low west-wind creeps panting up the shore 9
To be at rest among the flowers;
Full of rest, the green moss lifts,
  As the dark waves of the sea
Draw in and out of rocky rifts,
  Calling solemnly to thee
With voices deep and hollow,—­
    ’To the shore
  Follow!  Oh, follow! 
  To be at rest forevermore! 
      Forevermore!’

Look how the gray old Ocean 20
From the depth of his heart rejoices,
Heaving with a gentle motion,
When he hears our restful voices;
List how he sings in an undertone,
Chiming with our melody;
And all sweet sounds of earth and air
Melt into one low voice alone,
That murmurs over the weary sea,
And seems to sing from everywhere,—­
’Here mayst thou harbor peacefully, 30
Here mayst thou rest from the aching oar;
  Turn thy curved prow ashore,
And in our green isle rest forevermore! 
      Forevermore!’
And Echo half wakes in the wooded hill,
  And, to her heart so calm and deep,
  Murmurs over in her sleep,
Doubtfully pausing and murmuring still,
      ‘Evermore!’
    Thus, on Life’s weary sea, 40
    Heareth the marinere
    Voices sweet, from far and near,
    Ever singing low and clear,
    Ever singing longingly.

  Is it not better here to be,
Than to be toiling late and soon? 
In the dreary night to see
Nothing but the blood-red moon
Go up and down into the sea;
Or, in the loneliness of day, 50
  To see the still seals only
Solemnly lift their faces gray,
  Making it yet more lonely? 
Is it not better than to hear
Only the sliding of the wave
Beneath the plank, and feel so near
A cold and lonely grave,
A restless grave, where thou shalt lie
Even in death unquietly? 
Look down beneath thy wave-worn bark, 60
  Lean over the side and see
The leaden eye of the sidelong shark
    Upturned patiently,
  Ever waiting there for thee: 
Look down and see those shapeless forms,
  Which ever keep their dreamless sleep
  Far down within the gloomy deep,
And only stir themselves in storms,