Where, under the moon upon mounts of frost,
Full many a mariner’s bones are tossed.
Yon shadowy bark hath been to that wreck
And the dim blue fire that lights her deck
Doth play on as pale and livid a crew
As ever yet drank the churchyard dew.
To Deadman’s Isle in the eye of the blast,
To Deadman’s Isle she speeds her fast;
By skeleton shapes her sails are furl’d,
And the hand that steers is not of this world!”