XVII.
             
        Thou comest, much wept for: such a breeze
            Compell’d thy canvas, and my prayer
            Was as the whisper of an air
        To breathe thee over lonely seas.

        For I in spirit saw thee move
            Thro’ circles of the bounding sky,
            Week after week: the days go by:
        Come quick, thou bringest all I love.

        Henceforth, wherever thou may’st roam,
            My blessing, like a line of light,
            Is on the waters day and night,
        And like a beacon guards thee home.

        So may whatever tempest mars
            Mid-ocean, spare thee, sacred bark;
            And balmy drops in summer dark
        Slide from the bosom of the stars.

        So kind an office hath been done,
            Such precious relics brought by thee;
            The dust of him I shall not see
        Till all my widow’d race be run.