The Indian Boat.

'Twas midnight dark,             The seaman's bark,     Swift o'er the waters bore him,             When, thro' the night,             He spied a light     Shoot o'er the wave before him.     "A sail! a sail!" he cries;         "She comes from the Indian shore     "And to-night shall be our prize,         "With her freight of golden ore;             "Sail on! sail on!"             When morning shone     He saw the gold still clearer;             But, though so fast             The waves he past     That boat seemed never the nearer.             Bright daylight came,             And still the same     Rich bark before him floated;             While on the prize             His wishful eyes     Like any young lover's doted:     "More sail! more sail!" he cries,         While the waves overtop the mast;     And his bounding galley flies,         Like an arrow before the blast.             Thus on, and on,             Till day was gone,     And the moon thro' heaven did hie her,             He swept the main,             But all in vain,     That boat seemed never the nigher.             And many a day             To night gave way,     And many a morn succeeded:             While still his flight,             Thro day and night,     That restless mariner speeded.     Who knows--who knows what seas         He is now careering o'er?     Behind, the eternal breeze,         And that mocking bark, before!             For, oh, till sky             And earth shall die,     And their death leave none to rue it,             That boat must flee             O'er the boundless sea,     And that ship in vain pursue it.