Of course it was not all done at once, for the seals need a long time to turn things over in their minds, but year by year more seals went away from Novastoshnah, and Lukannon, and the other nurseries, to the quiet, sheltered beaches where Kotick sits all the summer through, getting bigger and fatter and stronger each year, while the holluschickie play round him, in that sea where no man comes.

I met my mates in the morning (and oh, but I am old!) Where roaring on the ledges the summer ground-swell rolled; I heard them lift the chorus that dropped the breakers’ song⁠— The beaches of Lukannon⁠—two million voices strong! The song of pleasant stations beside the salt lagoons, The song of blowing squadrons that shuffled down the dunes, The song of midnight dances that churned the sea to flame⁠— The beaches of Lukannon⁠—before the sealers came! I met my mates in the morning (I’ll never meet them more!); They came and went in legions that darkened all the shore. And through the foam-flecked offing as far as voice could reach We hailed the landing-parties and we sang them up the beach. The beaches of Lukannon⁠—the winter-wheat so tall⁠— The dripping, crinkled lichens, and the sea-fog drenching all! The platforms of our playground, all shining smooth and worn! The beaches of Lukannon⁠—the home where we were born! I meet my mates in the morning, a broken, scattered band. Men shoot us in the water and club us on the land; Men drive us to the Salt House like silly sheep and tame, And still we sing Lukannon⁠—before the sealers came.