74 STEVENSON'S POEMS Thoughts ? No thought has yet unskilled attempted to flutter Trammelled so vilely in verse; He who writes but aims at fame and his bread and his butter, Won with a groan and a curse. LONG TIME I LAY IN LITTLE EASE LONG time I lay in little ease Where, placed by the Turanian, Marseilles, the many-masted, sees The blue Mediterranean. Now songful in the hour of sport, Now riotous for wages, She camps around her ancient port, As ancient of the ages. Algerian airs through all the place Unconquerably sally; Incomparable women pace The shadows of the alley. And high o'er dark and graving yard And where the sky is paler, The golden virgin of the guard Shines, beckoning the sailor.