Das boat
Boat
Tis of a region desolate
And wild,
Of black whirling waters
Like a drowning lake,.
Tis of storming days I so
Forsake,
And behind the mess buried
Vale doth sleep
In front of das boat thy dumb
Rock rises steep,
A fretted sea wall of blue surf
Deep
And see the land a hoy! Of
Shooting cliffs and Gothic sheep
With wild weeds overgrown in
A heep,
Mad waters to try a row a bore
Das boat still in one piece a roar
The winding rocky reef surf tide
Ashore,
One row from land to push no more
Tis now a ship wreck bound the tide
That floats no more.
