While The Billy BoilsSearchThere’s a mist upon the riverWhere it runs by Peopletown —(O the ferry by the river — O the swiftly-running sands!)O the ghostly winds a-shiverWhere the life-lights flicker downAnd the strangers take the ferry where the stream is ribbed and brown,In the boats not made with hands.
There’s a boat beside the ferry,And a silent boatman steers —(O the lilt of lipping water as he dips his muffled oar!)For they drown beside the ferry,Where the ribbed brown current veers —And an eerie chant comes floating — floating back to mortal earsOn the winds of Evermore.
And never day rolls westward,And never night comes east —(O the rustle of their garments, and the wan wind sobbing low!)But riotward or restward,From the fast or to the feastThey must journey by Soul Ferry — Yea, the greatest and the least —Where the ribbed brown waters flow.
Still they dream beside the ferryWhere the silent boatman waits —(O the whisp’ring of the waters, where the soul-ships settle down!)Ay, they dream beside Soul FerryWith its motley, mystic freights,Creeping outward, creeping inward by the veiled and silent gates —By the gates of Peopletown.