Contents -BIBLIOGRAPHIC RECORD

Alfred H. Miles, ed. Women Poets of the Nineteenth Century. 1907.

By Ballads. III. The Voyage with the Nautilus

Mary Howitt (1799–1888)

I MADE myself a little boat,

As trim as trim could be;

I made it of a great pearl shell

Found in the Indian Sea.

I made my masts of wild sea-rush

That grew on a secret shore,

And the scarlet plume of the halcyon

Was the pleasant flag I bore.

For my sails I took the butterfly’s wings;

For my ropes the spider’s line;

And that mariner old, the Nautilus,

To steer me over the brine.

For he had sailed six thousand years,

And knew each isle and bay;

And I thought that we, in my little boat,

Could merrily steer away.

The stores I took were plentiful:

The dew as it sweetly fell;

And the honey that was hoarded up

In the wild bee’s summer cell.

“Now steer away, thou helmsman good,

Over the waters free;

To the charmèd Isle of the Seven Kings,

That lies in the midmost sea.”

He spread the sail, he took the helm;

And, long ere ever I wist,

We had sailed a league, we had reached the isle

That lay in the golden mist.

The charmèd Isle of the Seven Kings,

’Tis a place of wondrous spell;

And all that happed unto me there

In a printed book I’ll tell.

Said I, one day, to the Nautilus,

As we stood on the strand,

“Unmoor my ship, thou helmsman good

And steer me back to land;

“For my mother, I know, is sick at heart,

And longs my face to see.

What ails thee now, thou Nautilus?

Art slow to sail with me?

Up! do my will; the wind is fresh,

So set the vessel free.”

He turned the helm; away we sailed

Towards the setting sun:

The flying-fish were swift of wing,

But we outsped each one.

And on we went for seven days,

Seven days without a night;

We followed the sun still on and on,

In the glow of his setting light.

Down and down went the setting sun,

And down and down went we;

’Twas a splendid sail for seven days

On a smooth, descending sea.

On a smooth, descending sea we sailed,

Nor breeze the water curled:

My brain grew sick, for I saw we sailed

On the down-hill of the world.

“Good friend,” said I to the Nautilus,

“Can this the right course be?

And shall we come again to land?”

But answer none made he;

And I saw a laugh in his fishy eye

As he turned it up to me.

So on we went; but soon I heard

A sound as when winds blow,

And waters wild are tumbled down

Into a gulf below.

And on and on flew the little bark,

As a fiend her course did urge;

And I saw, in a moment, we must hang

Upon the ocean’s verge.

I snatched down the sails, I snapped the ropes,

I broke the masts in twain;

But on flew the bark and ’gainst the rocks,

Like a living thing did strain.

“Thou’st steered us wrong, thou helmsman vile!”

Said I to the Nautilus bold;

“We shall down the gulf; we’re dead men both!

Dost know the course we hold?”

I seized the helm with a sudden jerk,

And we wheeled round like a bird;

But I saw the Gulf of Eternity,

And the tideless waves I heard.

“Good master,” said the Nautilus,

“I thought you might desire

To have some wondrous thing to tell

Beside your mother’s fire.

“What’s sailing on a summer sea?

As well sail on a pool;

Oh, but I know a thousand things

That are wild and beautiful!

“And if you wish to see them now,

You’ve but to say the word.”

“Have done!” said I to the Nautilus,

“Or I’ll throw thee overboard.

“Have done!” said I, “thou mariner old,

And steer me back to land.”

No other word spake the Nautilus,

But took the helm in hand.

I looked up to the lady moon,

She was like a glow-worm’s spark;

And never a star shone down to us

Through the sky so high and dark.

We had no mast, we had no ropes,

And every sail was rent;

And the stores I brought from the charmèd isle

In the seven days’ sail were spent.

But the Nautilus was a patient thing,

And steered with all his might

On the up-hill sea; and he never slept,

But kept the course aright.

And for thrice seven nights we sailed and sailed;

At length I saw the bay

Where I built my ship, and my mother’s house

’Mid the green hills where it lay.

“Farewell!” said I to the Nautilus,

And leaped upon the shore;

“Thou art a skilful mariner,

But I’ll sail with thee no more!”