O’er what was joyous earth I roam,
And trample on the dead.
This is the music that my ear
Thrills with stern ecstasy to hear!
I love to view some lonely bark,
The sport of storms, the lightning’s mark,
Scarce struggling through the fresh’ning wave
That foams and yawns to be her grave!
I saw a son and father fight
For a drifting spar their lives to save;