The phantom voice of vanished gales
Made ghostly booming in their sails;
The singing waters in their wake
The music of the stars did make.
The swarthy crew that manned the decks
Wore loops of gold about their necks;
They spoke together in a tongue
That once I heard when I was young.
At daybreak, with their sails agleam,
They vanished like a summer's dream;
The shining galleons, one by one,
Drifting to the sea-washed sun.
"The square-rigger was a little like that," said Garth gently, "except that she was silver, instead of golden. Yes, I think she was very like that. Please read the one about 'Home from the back of the world she came.'" But Joan had turned to the title-page and was gazing blankly at it. "The Sails of Argo," it ran; "By James Elton Pemberley."
"Well!" she murmured.
As she turned the page, to begin with the first poem, some penciled lines on the fly-leaf caught her attention, and she read them silently.
