V

1

From the low palace of old father Ocean,
Come we in pity your cares to deplore;
Sea-racing dolphins are trained for our motion,
Moony tides swelling to roll us ashore.

2

Every nymph of the flood, her tresses rending,
Throws off her armlet of pearl in the main;
Neptune in anguish his charge unattending,
Vessels are found'ring, and vows are in vain.