...rs pray,— The ghost of what was once a ship Is sailing up the bay From gray sea-fog, from icy drift, From peril and from pain, The home-bound fisher greets thy lights, O hundred-harbored Maine ! But many a keel shall seaward turn, And many a sail outstand. When, tall and white, the Dead Ship looms Against the dusk of land. She rounds the headland's bristling pines; She threads the...