Alas! The Marquesas!
Shun the beckoning land!
Choose the open sea instead

To whatever end!

Took down to wondrous depths

Sullen we did go
Where shapes of unwarped primal
Gliding to and fro


Father! Willst thou pity
If dry're freshest cuts

If eyelids crack - mummified
Without trace of blood


Lord, why would thou leave us so misled?
How many warm hearts would cease to beat
In the consequence of it?