Alfred H. Miles, ed. Women Poets of the Nineteenth Century. 1907.
By Ballads. III. The Voyage with the NautilusMary Howitt (17991888)
I
As trim as trim could be;
I made it of a great pearl shell
Found in the Indian Sea.
That grew on a secret shore,
And the scarlet plume of the halcyon
Was the pleasant flag I bore.
For my ropes the spider’s line;
And that mariner old, the Nautilus,
To steer me over the brine.
And knew each isle and bay;
And I thought that we, in my little boat,
Could merrily steer away.
The dew as it sweetly fell;
And the honey that was hoarded up
In the wild bee’s summer cell.
Over the waters free;
To the charmèd Isle of the Seven Kings,
That lies in the midmost sea.”
And, long ere ever I wist,
We had sailed a league, we had reached the isle
That lay in the golden mist.
’Tis a place of wondrous spell;
And all that happed unto me there
In a printed book I’ll tell.
As we stood on the strand,
“Unmoor my ship, thou helmsman good
And steer me back to land;
And longs my face to see.
What ails thee now, thou Nautilus?
Art slow to sail with me?
Up! do my will; the wind is fresh,
So set the vessel free.”
Towards the setting sun:
The flying-fish were swift of wing,
But we outsped each one.
Seven days without a night;
We followed the sun still on and on,
In the glow of his setting light.
And down and down went we;
’Twas a splendid sail for seven days
On a smooth, descending sea.
Nor breeze the water curled:
My brain grew sick, for I saw we sailed
On the down-hill of the world.
“Can this the right course be?
And shall we come again to land?”
But answer none made he;
And I saw a laugh in his fishy eye
As he turned it up to me.
A sound as when winds blow,
And waters wild are tumbled down
Into a gulf below.
As a fiend her course did urge;
And I saw, in a moment, we must hang
Upon the ocean’s verge.
I broke the masts in twain;
But on flew the bark and ’gainst the rocks,
Like a living thing did strain.
Said I to the Nautilus bold;
“We shall down the gulf; we’re dead men both!
Dost know the course we hold?”
And we wheeled round like a bird;
But I saw the Gulf of Eternity,
And the tideless waves I heard.
“I thought you might desire
To have some wondrous thing to tell
Beside your mother’s fire.
As well sail on a pool;
Oh, but I know a thousand things
That are wild and beautiful!
You’ve but to say the word.”
“Have done!” said I to the Nautilus,
“Or I’ll throw thee overboard.
And steer me back to land.”
No other word spake the Nautilus,
But took the helm in hand.
She was like a glow-worm’s spark;
And never a star shone down to us
Through the sky so high and dark.
And every sail was rent;
And the stores I brought from the charmèd isle
In the seven days’ sail were spent.
And steered with all his might
On the up-hill sea; and he never slept,
But kept the course aright.
At length I saw the bay
Where I built my ship, and my mother’s house
’Mid the green hills where it lay.
And leaped upon the shore;
“Thou art a skilful mariner,
But I’ll sail with thee no more!”