Waifs of a World

Long ere Columbus in the breeze unfurled

His venturous sail to hunt the setting sun,

Long ere he fired his first exultant gun

Where strange canoes all round his flagship whirled,

The unsailed ocean which the west wind curled

Had born strange waifs to Europe, one by one:

Wood carved by Indian hands, and trees like none

Which men then knew, from an untrodden world.

Oh for a waif from o'er that wider sea

Whose margin is the grave, and where we think

A gem-bepebbled continent may be!

But all in vain we watch upon the brink;

No waif floats up from black infinity,

Where all who venture out for ever sink.