Sea-borne strangers, whence are ye?
We have nought but sorrow here;
Fate hath made you fancy free;
Fly this fame-envenomed sphere!
Hell-born torture would be bliss,
Soul-ecstatic, matched with this.
Ye have never known the care
Lives within a heart like mine;
Spirit palsied with despair,
Anguish past all anodyne,