The vessel scarce sea-worthy; but evermore
His fancy fled before the lazy wind
Returning, till beneath a clouded moon
He like a lover down thro’ all his blood
Drew in the dewy meadowy morning-breath 660
Of England, blown across her ghostly wall:
And that same morning officers and men
Levied a kindly tax upon themselves,
Pitying the lonely man and gave him it:
Then moving up the coast they landed him, 665