O'er many a league of the unquiet main,
And through the mist high cliffs began to peer,
And from the broad beach stretched along below
Voices came, like the clear notes of the lark
When on the morning breezes he uplifts
His praise to the Creator, - voices sweet
As on the evening air the nightingale
Spreads through the gloomy groves, - sweet as the words
Unto a maiden by her lover given;
And still this seemed the burden of the song:-
O mariner, wearied with ceaseless strife,
With storms and tempests and the cruel sea,
Why do you longer labor for that life
Which Jove upon the earth doth yield to thee?
A little moment, and ye cease to be.