Ceylon, or Java redolent of spice,
Or settling, neighbour of the Cape baboon,
Or roaming o’er—The Mountains of the Moon!
“What matters where? my world no longer owns
That dear meridian spot from which I dated
Degrees of distance, hemispheres, and zones,
A globe all blank and barren and belated.
What matters where my future life be fated?
With Lapland hordes, or Koords or Afric peasant,
A squatter in the western woods located,