Volume 98 — DROPPING THE PILOT.

Great Pilot, whom so many storms have tried, To see thee quit the helm at last, at last, And slow descend that vessel's stately side, Whilst yet waves surge and skies are overcast, Wakes wondering memories of that mighty past, Shaped by a guiding hand, Strong to direct as strenuous to command. When yet did a great ship on the great sea Drop Pilot like to thee? The "wakeful Palinurus" of old song Drowsed at the last, and floods his corpse did whelm; But thou hast ever been alert as strong, Pilot who never slumbered at the helm. Impetuous youth aspires to rear a realm, And the State-bark to steer In other fashion. Is it faith or fear Fills the old Pilot's spirit as he moves Slow from the post he loves? No "branch in Lethe dipped by Morpheus" slacks This Pilot's sight, or vanquishes his force. The ship he leaves may steer on other tacks; Will the new Palinurus hold her course With hand as firm and skill of such resource? He who, Æneas-like, Now takes the helm himself, perchance may strike On sunken shoals, or wish, on the wild main, The old Pilot back again. These things are on the knees of the great gods; But, hap what hap, that slow-descending form, Which oft hath stood with winds and waves at odds, And almost single-handed braved the storm, Shows an heroic shape; and high hearts warm To that stout grim-faced bulk Of manhood looming large against the hulk Of the great Ship, whose course, at fate's commands, He leaves to lesser hands!