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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 must we pray, For lo! the very stars are gone; Speak, Admiral, what shall I say?" "Why say, 'Sail on! sail on! and 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 Admiral, say, If we sight naught but seas at dawn?" "Why, you shall say, at break of day: 'Sail on! sail on! sail on! and on!' " They sailed and sailed, as winds might blow, Until at last the blanched mate said; "Why, now, 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 Admiral, speak and say—" He said: "Sail on! sail on! and on!" They sailed. They sailed. Then spoke the mate: "This mad sea shows his teeth to-night, He curls his lip, he lies in wait, With lifted teeth as if to bite! Brave Admiral, say but one good word; What shall we do when hope is gone?" The words leaped as a leaping sword: "Sail on! sail on! sail on! and on!" Then, pale and worn, he kept his deck, And thro' the darkness peered that night. Ah, darkest night! and then a speck,— A light! a light! a light! a light! It grew—a star-lit 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!" |