The world was fettered with frost; hail fell to the earth,
The coldest of corns.
Yet course now desires
Which surge in my heart for the high seas,
35 That I test the terrors of the tossing waves;
My soul constantly kindles in keenest impatience
To fare itself forth and far off hence
To seek the strands of stranger tribes.
There is no one in this world so o’erweening in power,
40 So good in his giving, so gallant in his youth,