Jonathan Swift

At Holyhead

O NEPTUNE! Neptune! must I still
Be here detained against my will?
Is this your justice when I ’m come
Above two hundred miles from home,
O’er mountains steep, o’er dusty plains,
Half choked with dust, half drowned with rains,
Only your godship to implore
To let me kiss your other shore?
A boon so small! but I may weep
While you ’re, like Baal, fast asleep.