Chapter VII
“So when there came a mighty cry of `Land!’And we clomb up and saw, and shouted strong`Salve Regina!’ all the ropes along,But knew at morn how that a counterfeit bandOf level clouds had aped a silver strand;So when we heard the orchard-bird’s small song,And all the people cried, `A hellish throngTo tempt us onward by the Devil planned,Yea, all from hell—keen heron, fresh green weeds,Pelican, tunny-fish, fair tapering reeds,Lie-telling lands that ever shine and dieIn clouds of nothing round the empty sky.Tired Admiral, get thee from this hell, and rest!’—`Steersman,’ I said, `hold straight into the West.’