Amid the shrouds, with panting breast
And drooping head, I see thee stand,
While pleased the hardy sailor climbs
To clasp thee in his roughened hand.
Say, didst thou follow, league on league,
Our pointed mast, thine only guide,
When but a floating speck it seemed
On the broad bosom of the tide?
Amid Newfoundland's misty bank
Hadst thou a nest, and nurslings fair?
Or cam st thou from New-England's vales?
Speak! speak! what tidings dost thou bear?
What news from native land and home?
Press'd closely to thy panting side,
Hast thou some folded scroll of love,
Light courier o er the dangerous tide?
A bird of genius art thou? say!
With impulse high thy spirit stirred.
Some region unexplored to gain,
And soar above the common herd?
Burns in thy breast some kindling spark,
Like that which fired the glowing mind
Of the adventurous Genoese,
An undiscovered world to find?
