I.

“Land ho!” he cried “I see it now,” says he, “This jolly breeze will fetch us soon to land.” Towards night they got there, time for early tea, A land where tea seemed ever smoking hot to stand. Thick clouds of smoke, by sleepy breezes fanned, Twined, serpent like, o’er all, in curves and twists; The setting sun glared red and angry, close at hand, And from his steaming brow fell off the mists, As falls the sweat from boxers, boxing with their fists.