So when, mere child, I crossed the Atlantic tide,
Ah! ne'er to see our Carib isle again—
There, as it chanced, the watchful seaman spied
A bark come drifting o'er the azure plain;
Which, as it neared us, we beheld it void
Of living thing—alone on that wide main;
Hinting a tale of wretches that had died
By rock, or whelming surge, or hunger-slain
On the waste wave. So on that bark did go
Unquestioned; bearing o'er the waters blue
Its own mysterious story—none might know;
But left me, as it faded on the view,
With spirit stirred, and eye unconsciously
That strained upon that solitary sea.

More verses by John Kenyon