To the Nautilus

Where Ausonian summers glowing,
Warm the deep to life and joyance,
And gentle zephyrs nimbly blowing;
Wanton with the waves that flowing
By many a land of ancient glory,
And many an isle renown'd in story,
Leap along with gladsome buoyance,
There Marinere,
Do'st thou appear,
In faery pinnace gailey flashing,
Through the white foam proudly dashing,
The joyous play-mate of the buxom breeze,
The fearless fondling of the mighty seas.

Thou the light sail boldly spreadest,
O'er the furrow'd waters gliding,
Thou nor wreck, nor foeman dreadest,
Thou nor helm nor compass needest,
While the sun is bright above thee,
While the bounding surges love thee,
In their deepening bosoms hiding,
Thou canst not fear,
Small Marinere,
For though the tides with restless motion,
Bear thee to the desert ocean,
Far as the ocean stretches to the sky,
'Tis all thine own, 'tis all thy empery.

Lame is art, and her endeavour,
Follows nature's course but slowly,
Guessing, toiling, seeking ever,
Still improving, perfect never;
Little Nautilus, thou shewest
Deeper wisdom than thou knowest,
Lore, which man should study lowly;
Bold faith and cheer,
Small Marinere,
Are thine within thy pearly dwelling,—
Thine, a law of life compelling,
Obedience, perfect, simple, glad, and free,
To the great will that animates the sea.
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