And the red moon looked down with an aspect of ire;
But her beams on a sudden grew sick-like and grey,
And the mews that had slept clanged and shrieked far away
And the buoys and the beacons extinguished their light,
As the boat of the stony-eyed dead came in sight,
High bounding from billow to billow; each form
Had its shroud like a plaid flying loose to the storm;
With an oar in each pulseless and icy-cold hand,
Fast they ploughed, by the lee-shore of Heligoland,
Such breakers as boat of the living ne’er crossed;