His sunken eyes, his face so pale,
Bespoke the scarcely-finished gale.
His bag, in which he took such joy,
Was carried by a dockside boy;
And undistributed remained
The store of handbills it contained.
He had not far to go to gain
The platform where the London train
Stood waiting, and with wistful eye
He saw his welcome bourne so nigh;