88 
AMBERGRIS 
 
 
 
 
FROM THE STAR AND THE GARTER 
 
Song 
 
To sea !  To sea !  The ship is trim ; 
The breezes bend the sails. 
They chant the necromantic hymn, 
Arouse Arabian tales ! 
 
To sea !  Before us leap the waves ; 
The wild white combers follow. 
Invoke, ye melancholy slaves, 
The morning of Apollo ! 
 
There’s phosphorescence in the wake, 
And starlight o’er the prow ; 
One comet, like an angry snake, 
Lifts up its hooded brow. 
 
The black grows grey toward the East : 
A hint of silver glows. 
Gods gather to the mystic feast 
On interlunar snows. 
 
The moon is up full-orbed :  she glides 
Striking a snaky ray 
Across the black resounding tides, 
The sepulchre of day. 
 
The moon is up :  upon the prow 
We stand and watch the moon. 
A star is lustred on your brow ; 
Your lips begin a tune, 
 
A long, low tune of love that swells 
Little by little, and lights