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76 POEMS AND SONGS
Now soon it was plain, he was peasant-skulled
For their tricks; and hence
The traitors’ shrewd schemings were all annulled
By his bit of sense.
He knew but one thing,— what his people thought them,
And therefore in danger he freedom brought them.
The whole was his vision,
He would no scission;
His words were but few, and of these the key:
“It shall not be!”
He stood by the helm like a sailor good,
In no storm remiss;
Of praise the tribute he never would,
But he shall have this/
The ship to the North he unswerving directed,—
In storm or in fog, exposed or protected ;—
And fear allaying,
All folk were saying:
“« He isn’t so stupid as people tell,
For all goes well!”
“On deck every man!” was his last command,
“’There’s storm again!”
When answered the cry from the mast-head: “ Land!”
Oh, then, just then,
Were loosed from the helm the true hands that were
steering,
In death he sank down, while the ship began veering —
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