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Where lies the Land to which yon Ship must go?
Festively she puts forth in trim array;
As vigorous as a Lark at break of day:
Is she for tropic suns, or polar snow?
What boots the enquiry? Neither friend nor foe
She cares for; let her travel where she may,
She finds familiar names, a beaten way
Ever before her, and a wind to blow.
Yet still I ask, what Haven is her mark?
And, almost as it was when ships were rare,
From time to time, like Pilgrims, here and there
Crossing the waters; doubt, and something dark,
Of the old Sea some reverential fear,
Is with me at thy farewell, joyous Bark!
after a Journey across
THE HAMILTON HILLS,
Ere we had reach'd the wish'd-for place, night fell:
they are of the sky,
And from our earthly memory fade away.
These words were utter'd in a pensive mood,
0 gentle Sleep! do they belong to thee,
This tiresome night, O Sleep! thou art to me
I have no pain that calls for patience, no;
© gentle Creature! do not use me so,
A flock of sheep that leisurely pass by,