Not the pilot has charged himself to ])ring his ship into port, though beaten back, and many times

baffled,

Not the path-finder, penetrating inland, weary and long.

By deserts parched, snows chilled, rivers wet, perseveres till he reaches his destination,

More than I have charged myself, heeded or un- heeded, to compose a free march for Tliese States,

To be exhilarating music to them, years, centuries hence.

I THOUGHT I was uot alouc, walking here by the shore.

But the one I thought was with me, as now I walk by the shore,

As I lean and look through the glimmering light — that one has utterly disappeared,

And those appear that perplex me.