XV.

The ship stole slowly, slowly on;— Should you in Californian field In ample flower-time behold The soft south rose lift like a shield Against the sudden sun at dawn, A double handful of heaped gold, Why you, perhaps, might understand How splendid and how queenly she Uprose beside that wood-set sea.

The storm-worn ship scarce seemed to creep From wave to wave. It scarce could keep— How still this fair girl stood, how fair! How proud her presence as she stood Between that vast sea and west wood! How large and liberal her soul, How confident, how purely chare, How trusting; how untried the whole Great heart, grand faith, that blossomed there!