Over the snow like pale ghosts flitting,

Missing the sweets of an All-Night Sitting!

Alone in a canvas-bottom'd bunk,

When gossip is gabbled, and toasts are drunk,

Where Good Society's geese gregarious,

Hiss malignant, or cackle hilarious!

Well, who knows? Those Arctic snows

May bore men less than our Social Shows;

And utter aridity starve the soul

More in the House than the Northern Pole!