The Chaumert Nautilus

This is the margaret ship that, bairds wad ledge,
Sails forenent warld's edge, -
The anterous bark that flings
On the sweet simmer its purpur wings
In bosoms glamourt, whaur the silkie sings,
An coral brigs lees bare,
Whaur the mermaidens lifts tae sun thair skinklin hair.

Its wabs o leevin gauze is thirlt lang syne;
Cuist is the ship sae fine!
An ilka chaumert fauld,
Whaur its dowf dreamin life wis iver tauld,
As the frail tenand turnt his growin hauld,
Afore thee nakit lees, -
Its irised coom is spleet; its crypt owergane wi seas!

The raivelt years buir witness tae the wark
That spreid his lustert ark;
Yit, as the wimple grew,
He buid quit fernyear's dwallin for the new,
Tipperin saft its fulgent airchwey throu,
An steekin fast his lair.
Sauf in his last-fund hame, he kent the auld nae mair.

Thanks for the wird celest that's brocht bi thee,
Bairn o the wanderin sea,
Cuist frae her skirt, forlorn!
Frae thy deid lips a clearer note is born
Nor iver Triton blew fae lowpit horn;
While on ma lug it rings,
Throu the deep weems o thocht A hear a vyce that sings: -

Big thee mair solemn mansions, O ma saul,
Faurder nor year's devaul!
Flit thy laich-pendit past!
Lat ilka sanctuar, nobler nor the last,
Bield thee frae hieven wi a dome mair vast,
Till thou at lenth be free,
Castin thy riven shell bi life's wanrestfu sea!

Oliver Wendell Holmes (1809-94)