Canto XVII
Thou comest, much wept for: such a breezeCompell’d thy canvas, and my prayerWas as the whisper of an airTo breathe thee over lonely seas.
For I in spirit saw thee moveThro’ circles of the bounding sky;Week after week: the days go by:Come quick, thou bringest all I love.
Henceforth, wherever thou may’st roam,My blessing, like a line of light,Is on the waters day and night,And like a beacon guards thee home.
So may whatever tempest marsMid-ocean, spare thee, sacred bark;And balmy drops in summer darkSlide from the bosom of the stars.
So kind an office hath been done,Such precious relics brought by thee;The dust of him I shall not seeTill all my widow’d race be run.