Yes, I remember, and still remember wailing Wind in the clouds and rainy sea-horizon,
Empty and lit with a low nocturnal glimmer; How in the strong, deep-plunging, transatlantic Emigrant ship we sang our songs in chorus. Piping, the gull flew by, the roaring billows Jammed and resounded round the mighty vessel; Infinite uproar, endless contradiction; Yet over all our chorus rose, reminding Wanderers here at sea of unforgotten Homes and the undying, old, memorial loves. R. L. Stevenson, Esq. Here in the strong, deep-plunging transatlantic Emigrant ship the waves arose gigantic; Piping the gull flew by, the roaring billows Rose and appeared before the eye like pillows. Piping the gull flew by, the roaring waves Rose and appeared from subter-ocean caves, And as across the smoothing sea we roam, Still and anon we sang our songs of home.
Brown in his haste demanded this from me; I in my leisure made the present verse.