POETRY.
COMPENSATION.
BETWEEN New Cross and London Bridge I peered from a third-class "smoker," Over the grimy waste of roofs Into the yellow ochre.
(We were all of us bound on the daily round Of dreary money-making, We were all of us doomed to desk or mart Till the evening star was waking.) When lo! from the midst of the chimney-pots Uprose a brave three-master, With brand-new canvas on every spar As fair as alabaster.
And gazing on that gallant sight,— In a moment's space, or sooner,
The smoke gave place to a southern breeze, The train to E bounding schooner.
Again the vessel stood to sea, Majestic, snowy-breasted ; Again great ships rode nobly by On purple waves, foam crested ; Again we passed mysterious coasts; Again soft nights enwound us ; Again the rising sun revealed Strange fishing craft around us; The spray was salt, the cordage creaked . . When—bump !—we reached the station. What did I care though the fog was there,
With THIS—for compensation? E. V.
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