And birds that build therein their nests—
Give me the gull, that bravely breasts
The mountain-waves—these are the joys for me.
“Let me enjoy a ship’s transporting sway,
Replying to the faithful gale
Which constant swells her trim white sail.
I care not for the rock, the rill,
The rugged precipice, nor dell,
Which landsmen praise and call fine scenery!”
But when the storm converges fiercely round—