And wreaked his hate on the merchant-kin
Of the one who fled from his sleepless steel,—
And shuddered the earth at his open sin.
He whipt the seas in a blind black ship
That wrought its woes ’twixt tide and tide,—
For the Forty-Year he touched no lip
Save only that of his dying bride.
The deep is cruel, and danger naught,
And life is lightly of tempest held;