Hanno, or, The future of exploration

Some work of noble note, may yet be
done,
Not unbecoming men that strove with
Gods.
The lights begin to twinkle from the
rocks.
The long day wanes; the slow moon
climbs; the deep
Moans round with many voices. Come,
my friends,
Tis not too late to seek a newer world.
Push off, and sitting well in order smite
The sounding furrows ; for my purpose
holds
To sail beyond the sunset and the
baths
Of all the western stars, until I die.
It may be that the gulfs will wash us
down :
It may be we shall touch the happy
isles.
Ulysses.
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