Alone, or with thy tribe a host
Thou spreadest the bars of the low-ebbed tide.
On the wave-washed drift of wrecks canst ride
Or crowd the cliffs of a rock bound coast.
No home is thine save the ocean’s waste;
Unrestrained o’er thousands of miles dost roam;
And follow the trail of the liners’ foam
On wings that show no signs of haste.
Thou canst rest on the height of vessels’ yards,
Or the gleaming ice of the northern floe.