What is that shimmering line of white
Gliding under the stark midnight —
Gliding — gliding — gliding — gliding —
Where the river gleams when the moon is bright?
There is never a sound save the night bird's cry,
And the languid water lapsing by —
Lapsing — lapsing — lapsing — lapsing —
Under the arch of a leaden sky.
‘ T is the winding Garavogue's spectral crew,
Bound for the port of dreams-come-true —
Rowing — rowing — rowing — rowing —
With a swinging stroke that is firm and true.
Do they ever reach their bourn? may be;
Yet who can say?— not we!— not we!—
Fading — fading — fading — fading —
Ere morn comes over the hills to the sea.
‘ T is so with all of the visions of man,
Howe'er he strive and howe'er he plan —
Fleeting — fleeting — fleeting — fleeting —
For life, alas, is a narrow span!