Now on Atlantic waves he rides afar,
Where Andes, giant of the western star,
With meteor-standard to the winds unfurled,
Looks from his throne of clouds o’er half the world!
Now far he sweeps, where scarce a summer smiles,
On Behring’s rocks, or Greenland’s naked isles:
Cold on his midnight watch the breezes blow,
From wastes that slumber in eternal snow;
And waft, across the wave’s tumultuous roar,
The wolf’s long howl from Oonalaska’s shore.