'Twas midnight dark,

    The seaman's bark,

Swift o'er the waters bore him,

    When, thro' the night,

    He spied a light

Shoot o'er the wave before him.

"A sail! a sail!" he cries;

  "She comes from the Indian shore

"And to-night shall be our prize,

  "With her freight of golden ore;

    "Sail on! sail on!"

    When morning shone

He saw the gold still clearer;

    But, though so fast

    The waves he past

That boat seemed never the nearer.

    Bright daylight came,

    And still the same

Rich bark before him floated;

    While on the prize

    His wishful eyes

Like any young lover's doted:

"More sail! more sail!" he cries,

  While the waves overtop the mast;

And his bounding galley flies,

  Like an arrow before the blast.

    Thus on, and on,

    Till day was gone,

And the moon thro' heaven did hie her,

    He swept the main,

    But all in vain,

That boat seemed never the nigher.

    And many a day

    To night gave way,

And many a morn succeeded:

    While still his flight,

    Thro day and night,

That restless mariner speeded.

Who knows—who knows what seas

  He is now careering o'er?

Behind, the eternal breeze,

  And that mocking bark, before!

    For, oh, till sky

    And earth shall die,

And their death leave none to rue it,

    That boat must flee

    O'er the boundless sea,

And that ship in vain pursue it.