A Runaway Bell Buoy

A Runaway Bell Buoy.
211.2

I was wearied of my shoal
I was wearled of the surge
That lifted me without end
To beat my endless dirge.

Ever the painted days
Wantoned with me and passed
A-down the valleys of the sea
And left me fettered fast.

Left me that cried to them
Chained to my drowned shoal,
Till I beat at the closing fog
And bellowed forth my soul.

Ever the gray drifts ran,
Unheeding my halling cry:
Ever the tempest called
And humbly I made reply.

But one night the black witch Tide
(Sister of mine was she)
Tore hard at my iron chain
Until she set me free.

And she took me in her arms,
And we swept into the night,
She with her subtle speed
And I with my voice of fright.

Ho! How the tall, vain ships
That once had passed me by.
Trembling stood still to hark
When I sent forth my cry.

So far a thousand lengues
I made a mock of the sea,
Till a sea-pull gripped my feet
And made prisoner of me.

And it dragged me north and north.
Where the walrus armies roar,
And the meltless ice holds me
That I toll not evermore.

Dumb am I now and still.
Gripped in a place of pain,
And unavalling mourn
For my old drowned shoal and chain.