To the end of the trail / Richard Hovey [electronic text]

[ant. (antistrophe) γ.

There is so much that I would fain be singing, I know not if my voice may fail, my friend, Nor if the years may ever see me bringing My lyric labors to a tranquil end. The new world, rising from its fiery death, Spreads its strong, phoenix-wings for sunward flight, Impatient of the past. The Trade-snake belches his foul black breath From a thousand throats and the throng takes fright. And cowers and the sky is overcast. Hark, but the hurry of hoof-beats in the air! The new Bellerophon of the unborn years! And his cry rings out like a victor's shout in our ears,

Piercing the monster's lair. Song is the steed he rides, Wisdom the bridle-rein. Who shall withstand him? Who shall delay? Not with an idle rein Grimly he guides. Death for the dragon! For men, where a fen was, a way For the footing of freemen! Then shall the poets pour us a flagon, Sweet as rain to the throats of ship-wrecked seamen, And the spent world shall draw a freer breath, — Though still may men see Faith as one astray, And Hope with weary eyes, And wan Love beating at the gates of Death. Wise eyes shall pierce the darkness with sweet scorn And wise lips clarion our way Through ever loftier portals of the morn, With lark-songs greatening as they rise In the large glories of the coming day.