But like a tired man going to his rest,

No hopes to thrill, no yearnings to inspire,

No tasks to burden, and no toil to tire,

No morn to waken to a day of quest.

Again upon the trackless deep,—again

About him as of yore the wild winds play;

Behind him lies the world he gave to men,

Before a grave in old Castile for aye:

Peace, winds and tides! Be calm, thou guardian sky,—

The lordliest dust of earth is passing by!

[62]

[62]

ATONEMENT.

You were a red rose then, I know,

Red as her wine—yea, redder still,—

Say rather her blood; and ages ago

(You know how destiny hath its will)

I placed you deep in her gorgeous hair,

And left you to wither there.

Wine and blood and a red, red rose,—

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