The First Attempt to Reach the Shore Where is the painter who shall paint for you, My Austral brothers, with a pencil steeped In hues of Truth, the weather-smitten crew Who gazed on unknown shores -- a thoughtful few -- What time the heart of their great Leader leaped Till he was faint with pain of longing? New And wondrous sights on each and every hand, Like strange supernal visions, grew and grew Until the rocks and trees, and sea and sand, Danced madly in the tear-bewildered view! And from the surf a fierce, fantastic band Of startled wild men to the hills withdrew With yells of fear! Who'll paint thy face, O Cook! Turned seaward, "after many a wistful look!" |