5

10

I remember the black wharves and the slips,

And the sea-tides tossing free;

And Spanish sailors with bearded lips,
And the beauty and mystery of the ships,
And the magic of the sea.

And the voice of that wayward song
Is singing and saying still:

"A boy's will is the wind's will,

And the thoughts of youth are long, long thoughts."

I remember the bulwarks by the shore,

And the fort upon the hill;

The sunrise gun, with its hollow roar,
The drum-beat repeated o'er and o'er,
And the bugle wild and shrill.

And the music of that old song
Throbs in my memory still:

"A boy's will is the wind's will,

And the thoughts of youth are long, long thoughts."

I remember the gleams and glooms that dart
Across the school-boy's brain;

The song and the silence in the heart,
That in part are prophecies, and in part
Are longings wild and vain.

And the voice of that fitful song
Sings on, and is never still:

"A boy's will is the wind's will,

And the thoughts of youth are long, long thoughts."

There are things of which I may not speak;

There are dreams that cannot die;

There are thoughts that make the strong heart weak,
And bring a pallor into the cheek,

And a mist before the eye.

And the words of that fatal song
Come over me like a chill:

"A boy's will is the wind's will,

And the thoughts of youth are long, long thoughts."

Strange to me now are the forms I meet

When I visit the dear old town;

But the native air is pure and sweet,

And the trees that o'ershadow each well-known street,

As they balance up and down,
Are singing the beautiful song,
Are sighing and whispering still:
"A boy's will is the wind's will,

And the thoughts of youth are long, long thoughts."

And Deering's Woods are fresh and fair,

And with joy that is almost pain

My heart goes back to wander there,

And among the dreams of the days that were,

I find my lost youth again.

And the strange and beautiful song,
The groves are repeating it still:

"A boy's will is the wind's will,

And the thoughts of youth are long, long thoughts."

Hesperides (hes pert dez): gardens where grew the wonderful golden apples which were famous in Greek mythology.

THE CASTAWAY

ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON

NOTE. Young David Balfour, having been shipwrecked off the west coast of Scotland, is washed ashore on a tiny island not far from Mull. In "the following pages he tells of his experience on the rocky islet.

With my stepping ashore I began the most unhappy 5 part of my adventures. It was half-past twelve in the morning, and though the wind was broken by the land, it was a cold night. I dared not sit down (for I thought I should have frozen), but took off my shoes and walked to and fro upon the sand, barefoot and beating my breast, 10 with infinite weariness. There was no sound of man or cattle; not a cock crew, though it was about the hour of their first waking; only the surf broke outside in the distance. To walk by the sea at that hour, and in a place so lonesome, struck me with a kind of fear.

15 As soon as the day began to break I put on my shoes and climbed a hill, the ruggedest scramble I ever under

took falling, the whole way, between big blocks of granite or leaping from one to another. When I got to the top the dawn was come. There was no sign of the brig, 20 which must have lifted from the reef and sunk. The boat,

too, was nowhere to be seen. There was never a sail upon the ocean; and in what I could see of the land, was neither house nor man,

I was afraid to think what had befallen my shipmates, and afraid to look longer at so empty a scene. What with my wet clothes and my weariness and hunger, I had enough to trouble me without that. So I set off eastward along the south coast, hoping to find a house where I 5 might warm myself, and perhaps get news of those I had lost. And at the worst, I considered the sun would soon rise and dry my clothes.

After a little my way was stopped by a creek or inlet of the sea, which seemed to run pretty deep into the land; 10 and as I had no means to get across, I must needs change my direction to go about the end of it. It was still the roughest kind of walking; indeed the whole, not only of Earraid, but of the neighboring part of Mull (which they call the Ross), is nothing but a jumble of granite rocks with 15 heather in among. At first the creek kept narrowing, as I had looked to see; but presently, to my surprise, it began to widen out again. I had still no notion of the truth until at last I came to a rising ground, and it burst upon me all in a moment that I was cast upon a little barren 20 isle, and cut off on every side by the salt seas.

Instead of the sun rising to dry me, it came on to rain, with a thick mist, so that my case was lamentable.

I stood in the rain and shivered, and wondered what to do, till it occurred to me that perhaps the creek was ford- 25 able. Back I went to the narrowest point and waded in. But not three yards from shore I plumped in head over