We rovers bold,
  To the land of Gold,
Over the bowling billows are gliding:
  Eager to toil,
  For the golden spoil,
And every hardship biding.
  See! See!
Before our prows' resistless dashes
The gold-fish fly in golden flashes!
  'Neath a sun of gold,
  We rovers bold,
On the golden land are gaining;
  And every night,
  We steer aright,
By golden stars unwaning!
All fires burn a golden glare:
No locks so bright as golden hair!
  All orange groves have golden gushings;
  All mornings dawn with golden flushings!
In a shower of gold, say fables old,
A maiden was won by the god of gold!
  In golden goblets wine is beaming:
  On golden couches kings are dreaming!
  The Golden Rule dries many tears!
  The Golden Number rules the spheres!
Gold, gold it is, that sways the nations:
Gold! gold! the center of all rotations!
  On golden axles worlds are turning:
  With phosphorescence seas are burning!
  All fire-flies flame with golden gleamings!
  Gold-hunters' hearts with golden dreamings!
  With golden arrows kings are slain:
  With gold we'll buy a freeman's name!
In toilsome trades, for scanty earnings,
At home we've slaved, with stifled yearnings:
No light! no hope! Oh, heavy woe!
When nights fled fast, and days dragged slow.
    But joyful now, with eager eye,
    Fast to the Promised Land we fly:
      Where in deep mines,
      The treasure shines;
    Or down in beds of golden streams,
    The gold-flakes glance in golden gleams!
      How we long to sift,
      That yellow drift!
    Rivers! Rivers! cease your goings!
      Sand-bars! rise, and stay the tide!
      'Till we've gained the golden flowing;
      And in the golden haven ride!


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Add Gold to your library.

Return to the Herman Melville library , or . . . Read the next poem; Herba Santa

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