TO THE MASTER OF THE METEOR

Lonesome on earth's loneliest deep,

Sailor! who dost thy vigil keep —

Off the Cape of Storms dost musing sweep

Over monstrous waves that curl and comb;

Of thee we think when here from brink

We blow the mead in bubbling foam.

Of thee we think, in a ring we link;

To the shearer of ocean's fleece we drink,

And the Meteor rolling home.