(Written on the exhumation and reburial in Spain of the bones of Christopher Columbus.)
Once more upon the ocean's heaving breast
He lays his head, not like the lover bold
Who in the brave, chivalric days of old
Wooed from her lips the secret of the West,
But like a tired man going to his rest,
No hopes to thrill, no yearnings to inspire,
No tasks to burden, and no toil to tire,
No morn to waken to a day of quest.
Again upon the trackless deep,--again
About him as of yore the wild winds play;
Behind him lies the world he gave to men,
Before a grave in old Castile for aye:
Peace, winds and tides! Be calm, thou guardian sky,--
The lordliest dust of earth is passing by!