To wake each joyless morn, and search again
The famished haunts of solitary men;
Whose race, unyielding as their native storm,
Know not a trace of Nature but the form;
Yet, at thy call, the hardy tar pursued,
Pale, but intrepid—sad, but unsubdued,
Pierced the deep woods, and hailing from afar
The moon’s pale planet and the northern star,
Paused at each dreary cry, unheard before,
Hyænas in the wild, and mermaids on the shore;