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.