The Log of the Northern Mariner:
The great serpent-prow of my ship, Wave-Render, cleaves the nighted waters as we
voyage across this dark, icy sea, towards the unknown... Above, the bright winter's moon
emerges a veil of cloud to cast its lucent rays upon us, and a clinging, supine sea-mist
writhes upon the midnight waves, swirled by the cool, whispering wind which catches our
great sail, pushing us onwards, ever onwards... And beyond the tang of the darkling sea,
the scent of night is as strong and heady as a summer blossom. I know not what awaits us
at the elder Isle of Mists... that grim and mystery-haunted place which beckons me to its
shadowed embrace, swathed in dark legendry and entwined in the mantle of ancient
sorceries... and yet I must hearken to its ethereal call... for mayhap the gods decreed this
to be my final voyage...
Lyrics: Byron
Music: Jonny Maudling