III.

Hills retreating on each hand Slowly sink into the plain; Solemn through the outspread land Rolls the river to the main. In the glooming of the night Something through the dusky air Doubtful glimmers, faintly white, But I know not what or where.

Is it but a chalky ridge Bared of sod, like tree of bark? Or a river-spanning bridge Miles away into the dark? Or the foremost leaping waves Of the everlasting sea, Where the Undivided laves Time with its eternity?

Is it but an eye-made sight, In my brain a fancied gleam? Or a faint aurora-light From the sun's tired smoking team? In the darkness it is gone, Yet with every step draws nigh; Known shall be the thing unknown When the morning climbs the sky!

Onward, onward through the night Matters it I cannot see? I am moving in a might Dwelling in the dark and me! End or way I cannot lose— Grudge to rest, or fear to roam; All is well with wanderer whose Heart is travelling hourly home.