The wheel of the Stygian foam;
O, the shimmering shroud where the thunders crowd,
And wilder our dreams of home.
THE DERELICT.
Make way! Make way! to the larboard! port!
The chop and the swell are mine!
And I am the ghost of the brawling tide,
The lord of the whelming brine!
And I am the wraith of the inky rain,
Made mad by the swash and swirl,