Chorus 
 The monstrous sea, with melancholy war, 
 Moateth about our castled shore, 
 His worldwide elemental moan, 
 Girdeth our lives with tragic zone. 
 Awhile to the wind he awakes: his seething ridges go 
 Following, following, row on row, 
 Lashed with hail and withering snow, 
 And ever dauntless hearts outride 
 The orphaning waters, wild and wide. 
 But when the winds, out-tired or fled, 
 Have left the drooping barks unsped, 
 Gently in calm his waves he swayeth, 
 And with the gentle moonlight playeth, 
 And all his mighty Music deep, 
 Whispers among the heapèd shells, 
 And tinkles softly with the bells 
 Of the clowns' unfolded sheep. 
 In the twinkling smile of his boundless slumber, 
 To the rhythm of oars,
 When the wild herds of his freedom outnumber 
 The sands of his shores, 
 When they toss their manes with delight,
 O'er the unpasturing field of the flood,
 When the waters have glowed with blood, 
 And hearts have laughed in the fight.
 Return, O Muse! return! 
 In the old sea songs of renown,
 In the noise of battle and victory, 
 By the mighty life and the changeful voice,
 Of the world-encircling sea;
 We have called, 
 O Muse of our isle, to thee.