Poncé De Léon

By a black wharf I stood lately,
When the night was at its noon;
Keen, malicious stars were shining,
And a wicked, white-faced moon.

And I saw a stately vessel,
Built in fashion quaint and old;
From her masthead, in the moonlight,
Hung a flag of faded gold.

Black with age her masts and spars were,
Black with age her ropes and rails;
Like a ghost through cere-cloths gazing
Shone the white moon through her sails.

Not a movement stirred the stillness,
Not a sound the silence broke,
Save alone the livid water
Lapping round her sides of oak.

Then to her unseen commander
Spake I, as to one I knew,
Don Juan Poncé de Léon,
I have waited long for you.

Take me with you, I implore you!
Take me with you on your quest
For the Fount of Youth Eternal,
For the Islands of the Blest.

Then above the bulwarks ancient
I beheld a head arise;
And the moon with ghastly glimmer
Lit its sad and hollow eyes.

Grieved am I, señor, and sorry,
Very courteously it said,
That I may not take you with me,
But I only take the Dead.

These alone may dare the voyage,
These alone sail on the quest
For the Fount of Youth Eternal,
For the Islands of the Blest.

Victor James Daley

Victor James Daley, born on 5 September 1858, was an Australian poet noted for his lyrical works. Daley’s publications, including his collection of poems

Victor James Daley

St Francis II

Victor James Daley, Simple Poetry

Villanelle

Victor James Daley, Simple Poetry

The Dream of Margaret

Victor James Daley, Simple Poetry

Night

Victor James Daley, Simple Poetry

English

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("En partant du Golfe d'Otrante.")

[Bk. XXVIII.]


We told thirty when we started
From port so taut and fine,
But soon our crew were parted,
Till now we number nine.

Tom Robbins, English, tall and straight,
Left us at Aetna light;
He left us to investigate
What made the mountain bright;
"I mean to ask Old Nick himself,
(And here his eye he rolls)
If I can't bring Newcastle pelf
By selling him some coals!"

In Calabree, a lass and cup
Drove scowling Spada wild:
She only held her finger up,
And there he drank and smiled;
And over in Gaëta Bay,
Ascanio - ashore
A fool! - must wed a widow gay
Who'd buried three or four.

At Naples, woe! poor Ned they hanged -
Hemp neckcloth he disdained -

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The Cruise of the In Memoriam

The wan light of a stormy dawn
Gleamed on a tossing ship:
It was the In Memoriam
Upon a mourning trip.

Wild waves were on the windward bow,
And breakers on the lee;
And through her sides the women heard
The seething of the sea.

O Captain! cried a widow fair,
Her plump white hands clasped she,
Thinkst thou, if drowned in this dread storm,
That savèd we shall be?

You speak in riddles, lady dear,
How savèd can we be
If we are drowned? Alas, I mean
In Paradise! said she.

O Ive sailed North, and Ive sailed South
(He was a godless wight),
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That shore I neer did sight!

The Captain told the First Mate bold
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Don Juan In Hades

When Juan sought the subterranean flood,
And paid his obolus on the Stygian shore,
Charon, the proud and sombre beggar, stood
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With open robes and bodies agonised,
Lost women writhed beneath that darkling sky;
There were sounds as of victims sacrificed:
Behind him all the dark was one long cry.

And Sganarelle, with laughter, claimed his pledge;
Don Luis, with trembling finger in the air,
Showed to the souls who wandered in the sedge
The evil son who scorned his hoary hair.

Shivering with woe, chaste Elvira the while,
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On the snow-line of the summit stood the Spaniards English slave;
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Where the torch of Cotopaxi² lit the wide Pacific wave,
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Blanched the cheek that Austral breezes off Van Diemens coast³ had tanned,
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From the forest far beneath him came the baffled bloodhounds bay,
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The rocky ledge runs far into the sea,
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The Lighthouse lifts its massive masonry,
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Even at this distance I can see the tides,
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And as the evening darkens, lo! how bright,
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Beams forth the sudden radiance of its light
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Not one alone; from each projecting cape
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The world was in my debt,
I was the Friend of Man,
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His hat was shocking bad,
He wore a faded tie,
And yet, withal, he had
A moist and shining eye.

And though his purse was lean,
And though his coat was dyed,
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We sat in a hotel,
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I listened to his tale.

He told me that some day
In his place I would be;
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No use in warning me.

He spoke of high Desire
And aspirations true;
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In eyes of faded blue.

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Victor James Daley