My sea-weary soul. To conceive this is hard
For the landsman who lives on the lonely shore—
How, sorrowful and sad on a sea ice-cold,
15 I eked out my exile through the awful winter
. . . . . . . . deprived of my kinsmen,
Hung about by icicles; hail flew in showers.
There I heard naught but the howl of the sea,
The ice-cold surge with a swan-song at times;
20 The note of the gannet for gayety served me,
The sea-bird’s song for sayings of people,