‘Hjalmar,’ the cold stone said
‘Hjalmar was his name.’
Naught more on the plaque stood
But that call to fame.

In sooth, I saw, upon the wave
The tow’ring iron mast
In the distance, his crimson mane
Flowing, and flowing fast

Faster still, the Flora went
Caring not for fate or wind
By unknown gods was it sent
Golden Shores to find

From the shore on I looked
Above that forlorn Sea
How deep, so deep, they sharply stooped
The Flora and her kin

Ne’er again did she appear
Nor her captain proud
Forever lost, but ever here
Hjalmar and his brow