With which I might have conquered an escape,
    Leaving me, a forlorn old spirit, sere and grey. 
    Musing through barren hours upon the past,
    I think with bitterness on those who once
    Were friends and lovers—­Queen, companions, Wife! 
    Forgotten! yes, forgotten by them all! 
    The luxuries of the world-taxing city,
    The kisses of their children, smiles of men
    Renowned of deeds which have not failed, like mine—­
    This is the portion of that happier crowd
    Who set me on to dangerous enterprise. 
    But ah! the worst part of it all, is this,—­
    To be forgotten by my own best friends—­
    To be to them as if I ne’er had been! 
    My wife—­my wife!”—­he ended with bowed head.

    “Art thou indeed a spirit?” Olive asked,
    Shrinking a step aside.  Then her kind heart
    O’ercome the transient awe, and stealing close,
    While smiling on him with sweet, wondering eyes,
    Began again:—­“But art thou truly he
    Whose name is on the lip of the great world?—­
    Of whom the wives and mothers, tearful, speak
    When sound the Northern wind-harps?—­whose grand fate,
    Hath power to touch, not only hearts of men,
    But draw the golden drops from weeping purses? 
    Oh! be content! if Fame and Love content thee. 
    For thee, the hearts of mariners beat loud—­
    For thee, ships chase the pathways of the sea—­
    By thee the souls of nations, like one chord
    Are smote upon, and ring out sympathy;
    And men talk on the streets, and by their hearths,
    Of him who led to dismal, distant shores
    The Crusade of the Nineteenth Century. 
    In that new world, where generous hearts are found
    To flourish on the air of liberty,
    A noble merchant fitted out a ship;
    And others joined him in his kindly plan,
    So deep the interest taken in thy fate. 
    And oh, for thee, thou princely-fortuned man,
    A pale face from a northern window looks,
    Forever looks, with constancy sublime. 
    At night, when spectral tints are in the North—­
    By day, when winds blow down from that bleak source—­
    That face peers from the window anxiously,
    As if the elements might come from thee
    Bearing some message to her pining heart.”

    As breaks the sunlight from a snow-filled cloud,
    Smiles struggled through the list’ner’s wintry looks.

    “As land-bird with a green twig in its beak
    Is welcome to the homesick ship which long
    Hath tossed in foreign waters, so art thou
    Welcome to me, with this consoling tale. 
    I am content.  Weird OENE, keep me here! 
    And I will while away a century
    In dreaming of a love which hath not failed;
    Now knowing that the first to welcome me
    In Heaven’s ineffable bowers, will be my wife.”