In the Offing

I walked upon the headland With my friend one summer day, When an unknown foreign schooner Came stealing up the bay.

Her sails were light as moonshine Her hull was dark as night, And silence fell between us For wonder at the sight.

No name upon her quarter, No flag at peak nor fore, To tell her port or errand,— No friendly look she wore.

All day she tacked before us Or lay to on the tide, As if awaiting orders From one who should decide.

Never a ship's bell sounded, Never a voice rang out, As she heeled before the wind-flaws Or stood up to come about.

"Why, it is passing strange," I said, "Aye, passing strange," said he; And I could see that in his face I did not like to see.

She did not come to anchor Nor cross the restless bar, But when the harbor twilight Flashed out its evening star,

Without a hail at parting Or any colors shown, My friend had gone aboard her— For the Isles of the Unknown.