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!”