SECOND CANTO:

SECOND CANTO:THE SCENE LIES AT SEA, BETWEEN CAPE FRESCHIN, IN CANDIA, AND THE ISLAND OF FALCONERA, WHICH IS NEARLY TWELVE LEAGUES NORTHWARD OF CAPE SPADO.TIME,—FROM NINE IN THE MORNING UNTIL ONE O’CLOCK OF THE NEXT DAY AT NOON.

THE SCENE LIES AT SEA, BETWEEN CAPE FRESCHIN, IN CANDIA, AND THE ISLAND OF FALCONERA, WHICH IS NEARLY TWELVE LEAGUES NORTHWARD OF CAPE SPADO.

TIME,—FROM NINE IN THE MORNING UNTIL ONE O’CLOCK OF THE NEXT DAY AT NOON.

I. Reflections on leaving Shore.—II. Favourable Breeze—Water-Spout—The dying Dolphin—Breeze freshens—Ship’s rapid progress along the Coast—Top-Sails reefed—Gale of Wind—Last appearance, bearing, and distance of Cape Spado—A Squall—Top-Sails double reefed—Main-Sail split—The Ship bears up; again hauls upon the Wind—Another Main-Sail bent, and set—Porpoises.—III. The Ship driven out of her course from Candia—Heavy Gale—Top-Sails furled—Top-gallant-yards lowered—Heavy Sea—Threatening Sunset—Difference of Opinion respecting the mode of taking in the Main-sail—Courses reefed—Four Seamen lost off the lee Main-yard-arm—Anxiety of the Master, and his Mates, on being near a Lee-shore—Mizen reefed.—IV. A tremendous Sea bursts over the Deck; its consequences—The Ship labours in great Distress—Guns thrown overboard—Dismal appearance of the Weather—Very high and dangerous Sea—Storm of Lightning—Severe fatigue of the Crew at the Pumps—Critical situation of the Ship near the Island Falconera—Consultation and resolution of the Officers—Speech and advice of Albert; his devout Address to Heaven—Order given to scud—The Fore Stay-sail hoisted and split—The Head Yards braced aback—The Mizen-Mast cut away.

THESHIPWRECK.

CANTO II.

He said: Palemon saw with grief of heart,The storm prevailing o’er the Pilot’s art;In silent terror and distress involved,He heard their last alternative resolved:DRAWN BY RICHARD WESTALL, R.A. ENGRAVED BY EDWARD FINDEN.PUBLISHED BY JOHN SHARPE, PICCADILLY,OCT. 1, 1819.

He said: Palemon saw with grief of heart,The storm prevailing o’er the Pilot’s art;In silent terror and distress involved,He heard their last alternative resolved:

He said: Palemon saw with grief of heart,

The storm prevailing o’er the Pilot’s art;

In silent terror and distress involved,

He heard their last alternative resolved:

DRAWN BY RICHARD WESTALL, R.A. ENGRAVED BY EDWARD FINDEN.PUBLISHED BY JOHN SHARPE, PICCADILLY,OCT. 1, 1819.

I. Adieu! ye pleasures of the sylvan scene,Where peace, and calm contentment dwell serene:To me, in vain, on earth’s prolific soilWith summer crowned, th’ Elysian vallies smile;To me those happier scenes no joy impart,But tantalize with hope my aching heart:Ye tempests! o’er my head congenial rollTo suit the mournful music of my soul;In black progression, lo, they hover near,Hail, social horrors! like my fate severe:Old ocean hail! beneath whose azure zoneThe secret deep lies unexplored, unknown.Approach, ye brave companions of the sea!And fearless view this awful scene with me.Ye native guardians of your country’s laws!Ye brave assertors of her sacred cause!The Muse invites you, judge if she depart,Unequal, from the thorny rules of art;In practice trained, and conscious of her power,She boldly moves to meet the trying hour:Her voice attempting themes, before unknownTo music, sings distresses all her own.II. O’er the smooth bosom of the faithless tides,Propelled by flattering gales, the vessel glides:Rodmond exulting felt the auspicious wind,And by a mystic charm its aim confin’d.The thoughts of home, that o’er his fancy roll,With trembling joy dilate Palemon’s soul;Hope lifts his heart, before whose vivid rayDistress recedes, and danger melts away.Tall Ida’s summit now more distant grew,And Jove’s high hill was rising to the view:When on the larboard quarter they descryA liquid column towering shoot on high;The foaming base the angry whirlwinds sweep,Where curling billows rouse the fearful deep:Still round, and round, the fluid vortex flies,Diffusing briny vapours o’er the skies.This vast phenomenon, whose lofty head,In Heaven immersed, embracing clouds o’erspread,In spiral motion first, as seamen deem,Swells, when the raging whirlwind sweeps the stream.The swift volution, and th’ enormous train,Let sages versed in Nature’s lore explain.The horrid apparition still draws nigh,And white with foam the whirling billows fly.The guns were primed; the vessel northward veers,Till her black battery on the column bears:The nitre fired; and, while the dreadful soundConvulsive shook the slumbering air around,The watery volume, trembling to the sky,Burst down a dreadful deluge, from on high!Th’ expanding ocean trembled as it fell,And felt with swift recoil her surges swell;But soon, this transient undulation o’er,The sea subsides, the whirlwinds rage no more.While southward now th’ increasing breezes veer,Dark clouds incumbent on their wings appear:Ahead they see the consecrated groveOf Cyprus, sacred once to Cretan Jove.The ship beneath her lofty pressure reels,And to the freshening gale still deeper heels.But now, beneath the lofty vessel’s stern,A shoal of sportive dolphins they discernBeaming from burnished scales refulgent rays,Till all the glowing ocean seems to blaze:In curling wreaths they wanton on the tide,Now bound aloft, now downward swiftly glide;Awhile beneath the waves their tracks remain,And burn in silver streams along the liquid plain.Soon to the sport of death the crew repair,Dart the long lance, or spread the baited snare.One in redoubling mazes wheels along,And glides unhappy near the triple prong:Rodmond, unerring, o’er his head suspendsThe barbed steel, and every turn attends;Unerring aimed, the missile weapon flew,And, plunging, struck the fatal victim through;Th’ upturning points his ponderous bulk sustain,On deck he struggles with convulsive pain:But while his heart the fatal javelin thrills,And flitting life escapes in sanguine rills,What radiant changes strike th’ astonished sight!What glowing hues of mingled shade and light!Not equal beauties gild the lucid westWith parting beams all o’er profusely drest,Not lovelier colours paint the vernal dawn,When orient dews impearl th’ enamelled lawn;Than from his sides in bright suffusion flow,That now with gold empyreal seem to glow;Now in pellucid sapphires meet the view,And emulate the soft celestial hue;Now beam a flaming crimson on the eye,And now assume the purple’s deeper dye:But here description clouds each shining ray;What terms of art can Nature’s powers display!The lighter sails, for summer winds and seas,Are now dismissed, the straining masts to ease;Swift on the deck the stud-sails all descend,Which ready seamen from the yards unbend;The boats then hoisted in are fixed on board,And on the deck with fastening gripes secured.The watchful ruler of the helm no moreWith fixed attention eyes th’ adjacent shore,But by the oracle of truth below,The wonderous magnet, guides the wayward prow.The powerful sails, with steady breezes swelled,Swift and more swift the yielding bark impelled:Across her stem the parting waters run,As clouds, by tempests wafted, pass the sun.Impatient thus she darts along the shore,Till Ida’s mount, and Jove’s are seen no more;And while aloof from Retimo she steers,Maleca foreland full in front appears.Wide o’er yon Isthmus stands the cypress grove,That once inclosed the hallowed fane of Jove;Here too, memorial of his name! is foundA tomb in marble ruins on the ground:This gloomy tyrant, whose despotic swayCompelled the trembling nations to obey,Through Greece for murder, rape, and incest known,The Muses raised to high Olympus’ throne;For oft, alas! their venal strains adornThe prince, whom blushing virtue holds in scorn:Still Rome and Greece record his endless fame,And hence yon mountain yet retains his name.But see! in confluence borne before the blast,Clouds rolled on clouds the dusky noon o’ercast:The blackening ocean curls, the winds arise,And the dark scud in swift succession flies.While the swoln canvass bends the masts on high,Low in the wave the leeward cannon lie.The master calls, to give the ship relief,‘The topsails lower, and form a single reef!’Each lofty yard with slackened cordage reels;Rattle the creaking blocks and ringing wheels.Down the tall masts the topsails sink amain,Are manned and reefed, then hoisted up again.More distant grew receding Candia’s shore,And southward of the west Cape Spado bore.Four hours the sun his high meridian throneHad left, and o’er the Atlantic regions shone;Still blacker clouds, that all the skies invade,Draw o’er his sullied orb a dismal shade;A lowering squall obscures the southern sky,Before whose sweeping breath the waters fly;Its weight the top-sails can no more sustain—‘Reef top-sails, reef!’ the master calls again.The halyards and top bow-lines soon are gone,The clue-lines and reef-tackles next they run;The shivering sails descend; the yards are square;Then quick aloft the ready crew repair;The weather-earings and the lee they past,The reefs enrolled, and every point made fast.Their task above thus finished, they descend,And vigilant th’ approaching squall attend;It comes resistless! and with foaming sweepUpturns the whitening surface of the deep;In such a tempest, borne to deeds of death,The wayward sisters scour the blasted heath.The clouds, with ruin pregnant, now impend,And storm, and cataracts tumultuous blend.Deep, on her side, the reeling vessel lies:‘Brail up the mizen quick!’ the master cries,‘Man the clue-garnets! let the main-sheet fly!’It rends in thousand shivering shreds on high!The main-sail all in streaming ruins tore,Loud fluttering, imitates the thunder’s roar:The ship still labours in th’ oppressive strain,Low bending, as if ne’er to rise again.‘Bear up the helm a-weather!’ Rodmond cries;Swift at the word the helm a-weather flies;She feels its guiding power, and veers apace,And now the fore-sail right athwart they brace:With equal sheets restrained, the bellying sailSpreads a broad concave to the sweeping gale.While o’er the foam the ship impetuous flies,The helm th’ attentive timoneer applies:As in pursuit along th’ aërial wayWith ardent eye the falcon marks his prey.Each motion watches of the doubtful chace,Obliquely wheeling through the fluid space;So, governed by the steersman’s glowing hands,The regent helm her motion still commands.But now, the transient squall to leeward past,Again she rallies to the sullen blast:The helm to starboard moves; each shivering sailIs sharply trimmed to clasp th’ augmenting gale—The mizen draws; she springs aloof once more,While the forestay-sail balances before.The fore-sail braced obliquely to the wind,They near the prow th’ extended tack confin’d;Then on the leeward sheet the seamen bend,And haul the bow-line to the bowsprit-end:To top-sails next they haste: the bunt-lines gone!Through rattling blocks the clue-lines swiftly run;Th’ extending sheets on either side are mann’d,Abroad they come! the fluttering sails expand;The yards again ascend each comrade mast,The leeches taught, the halyards are made fast,The bow-lines hauled, and yards to starboard braced,And straggling ropes in pendant order placed.The main-sail, by the squall so lately rent,In streaming pendants flying, is unbent:With brails refixed, another soon prepared,Ascending, spreads along beneath the yard.To each yard-arm the head-rope they extend,And soon their earings and their robans bend.That task performed, they first the braces slack,Then to the chesstree drag th’ unwilling tack,And, while the lee clue-garnet’s lowered away,Taught aft the sheet they tally, and belay.Now to the north, from Afric’s burning shore,A troop of porpoises their course explore;In curling wreaths they gambol on the tide,Now bound aloft, now down the billow glide:Their tracks awhile the hoary waves retain,That burn in sparkling trails along the main—These fleetest coursers of the finny race,When threatening clouds th’ ethereal vault deface,Their route to leeward still sagacious form,To shun the fury of th’ approaching storm.III. Fair Candia now no more beneath her leeProtects the vessel from th’ insulting sea;Round her broad arms impatient of control,Roused from the secret deep, to billows roll:Sunk were the bulwarks of the friendly shore,And all the scene an hostile aspect wore.The flattering wind, that late with promised aidFrom Candia’s bay th’ unwilling ship betray’d,No longer fawns beneath the fair disguise,But like a ruffian on his quarry flies;Tost on the tide she feels the tempest blow,And dreads the vengeance of so fell a foe—As the proud horse with costly trappings gay,Exulting, prances to the bloody fray;Spurning the ground he glories in his might,But reels tumultuous in the shock of fight:E’en so, caparisoned in gaudy pride,The bounding vessel dances on the tide.Fierce and more fierce the gathering tempest grew,South, and by west, the threatening demon blew;Auster’s resistless force all air invades,And every rolling wave more ample spreads:The ship no longer can her top-sails bear;No hopes of milder weather now appear.Bowlines and halyards are cast off again,Clue-lines hauled down, and sheets let fly amain:Embrailed each top-sail, and by braces squar’d,The seamen climb aloft, and man each yard;They furled the sails, and pointed to the windThe yards, by rolling tackles then confin’d,While o’er the ship the gallant boatswain flies;Like a hoarse mastiff through the storm he cries,Prompt to direct th’ unskilful still appears,Th’ expert he praises, and the timid cheers.Now some, to strike top-gallant yards attend,}Some, trav’llers up the weather-back stays send,}At each mast-head the top-ropes others bend:}The parrels, lifts, and clue-lines soon are gone,Topped and unrigged, they down the back-stays run;The yards secure along the booms were laid,And all the flying ropes aloft belay’d:Their sails reduced, and all the rigging clear,Awhile the crew relax from toils severe;Awhile their spirits, with fatigue opprest,In vain expect th’ alternate hour of rest—But with redoubling force the tempests blow,And watery hills in dread succession flow;A dismal shade o’ercast the frowning skies,New troubles grow; fresh difficulties rise;No season this from duty to descend,‘All hands on deck’ must now the storm attend.His race performed, the sacred lamp of dayNow dipt in western clouds his parting ray:His languid fires, half lost in ambient haze,Refract along the dusk a crimson blaze;Till deep immerged the sickening orb descends,And cheerless night o’er heaven her reign extends;Sad evening’s hour, how different from the past!No flaming pomp, no blushing glories cast,No ray of friendly light is seen around;The moon and stars in hopeless shade are drown’d.The ship no longer can whole courses bear,To reef them now becomes the master’s care;The sailors, summoned aft, all ready stand,And man th’ enfolding brails at his command:But here the doubtful officers dispute,Till skill, and judgment prejudice confute:For Rodmond, to new methods still a foe,Would first, at all events, the sheet let go;To long-tried practice obstinately warm,He doubts conviction, and relies on form.This Albert and Arion disapprove,And first to brail the tack up firmly move:‘The watchful seaman, whose sagacious eyeOn sure experience may with truth rely,Who from the reigning cause foretels th’ effect,This barbarous practice ever will reject:For, fluttering loose in air, the rigid sailSoon flits to ruins in the furious gale;And he, who strives the tempest to disarm,Will never first embrail the lee yard-arm.’So Albert spoke; to windward, at his call,Some seamen the clue-garnet stand to haul—The tack’s eased off, while the involving clueBetween the pendent blocks ascending flew;The sheet and weather-brace they now stand by,The lee clue-garnet, and the bunt-lines ply;Then, all prepared, ‘Let go the sheet!’ he cries—Loud rattling, jarring, through the blocks it flies!Shivering at first, till by the blast impelled,High o’er the lee yard-arm the canvass swelled;By spilling lines embraced, with brails confined,It lies at length unshaken by the wind.The fore-sail then secured with equal care,Again to reef the mainsail they repair;While some above the yard o’er-haul the tye,Below, the down-haul tackle others ply;Jears, lifts and brails, a seaman each attends,And down the mast its mighty yard descends:When lowered sufficient they securely brace,And fix the rolling tackle in its place;The reef-lines and their earings now prepared,Mounting on pliant shrouds they man the yard:Far on the extremes appear two able hands,For no inferior skill this task demands.To windward, foremost, young Arion strides,The lee yard-arm the gallant boatswain rides:Each earing to its cringle first they bend,The reef-band then along the yard extend;The circling earings round th’ extremes entwin’d,By outer and by inner turns they bind;The reef-lines next from hand to hand received,Through eyelet-holes and roban-legs were reeved;The folding reefs in plaits inrolled they lay,Extend the worming lines, and ends belay.Hadst thou, Arion! held the leeward postWhile on the yard by mountain billows tost,Perhaps Oblivion o’er our tragic taleHad then for ever drawn her dusky veil;But ruling Heaven prolonged thy vital date,Severer ills to suffer, and relate.For, while aloft the order those attendTo furl the mainsail, or on deck descend;A sea, upsurging with stupendous roll,To instant ruin seems to doom the whole:‘O friends, secure your hold!’ Arion cries—It comes all dreadful! down the vessel liesHalf buried sideways; while, beneath it tost,Four seamen off the lee yard-arm are lost:Torn with resistless fury from their hold,In vain their struggling arms the yard enfold;In vain to grapple flying ropes they try,The ropes, alas! a solid gripe deny:Prone on the midnight surge with panting breathThey cry for aid, and long contend with Death;High o’er their heads the rolling billows sweep,And down they sink in everlasting sleep.Bereft of power to help, their comrades seeThe wretched victims die beneath the lee,With fruitless sorrow their lost state bemoan,Perhaps a fatal prelude to their own.In dark suspense on deck the pilots stand,Nor can determine on the next command:Though still they knew the vessel’s armed sideImpenetrable to the clasping tide;Though still the waters by no secret woundA passage to her deep recesses found;Surrounding evils yet they ponder o’er,A storm, a dangerous sea, and leeward shore!“Should they, though reefed, again their sails extend,Again in shivering streamers they may rend;Or should they stand, beneath th’ oppressive strainThe down-pressed ship may never rise again;Too late to weather now Morea’s land,And drifting fast on Athens’ rocky strand.”Thus they lament the consequence severe,Where perils unallayed by Hope appear:Long pondering in their minds each feared event,At last to furl the courses they consent;That done, to reef the mizen next agree,And try beneath it sidelong in the sea.Now down the mast the yard they lower away,Then jears and topping-lift secure belay;The head, with doubling canvass fenced around,In balance near the lofty peak they bound:The reef enwrapped, th’ inserting knittles tied,The halyards throt and peak are next applied—The order given, the yard aloft they swayed,The brails relaxed, th’ extended sheet belayed;The helm its post forsook, and, lashed a-lee,Inclined the wayward prow to front the sea.IV. When sacred Orpheus on the Stygian coast,With notes divine deplored his consort lost;Though round him perils grew in fell array,And fates and furies stood to bar his way;Not more adventurous was th’ attempt, to moveTh’ infernal powers with strains of heavenly love,Than mine, in ornamental verse to dressThe harshest sounds that terms of art express:Such arduous toil sage Dædalus endured,In mazes, self-invented, long immured,Till genius her superior aid bestowed,To guide him through that intricate abode—Thus, long imprisoned in a rugged wayWhere Phœbus’ daughters never aimed to stray,The Muse, that tuned to barbarous sounds her string,Now spreads, like Dædalus, a bolder wing;The verse begins in softer strains to flow,Replete with sad variety of woe.As yet, amid this elemental war,Where Desolation in his gloomy carTriumphant rages round the starless void,And Fate on every billow seems to ride;Nor toil, nor hazard, nor distress appearTo sink the seamen with unmanly fear:Though their firm hearts no pageant honour boast,They scorn the wretch that trembles at his post;Who from the face of danger strives to turn,Indignant from the social hour they spurn;Though now full oft they felt the raging tideIn proud rebellion climb the vessel’s side;Though every rising wave more dreadful grows,And in succession dire the deck o’erflows;No future ills unknown their souls appal,They know no danger, or they scorn it all:But e’en the generous spirits of the brave,Subdued by toil, a friendly respite crave;They, with severe fatigue alone opprest,Would fain indulge an interval of rest.Far other cares the Master’s mind employ,Approaching perils all his hopes destroy:In vain he spreads the graduated chart,And bounds the distance by the rules of art;Across the geometric plane expandsThe compasses to circumjacent lands;Ungrateful task! for, no asylum found,Death yawns on every leeward shore around.—While Albert thus, with horrid doubts dismayed,The geometric distances surveyed,On deck the watchful Rodmond cries aloud,‘Secure your lives! grasp every man a shroud!’—Roused from his trance, he mounts with eyes aghast;When o’er the ship, in undulation vast,A giant surge down rushes from on high,And fore and aft dissevered ruins lie:As when, Britannia’s empire to maintain,Great Hawke descends in thunder on the main,Around the brazen voice of battle roars,And fatal lightnings blast the hostile shores;Beneath the storm their shattered navies groan;The trembling deep recoils from zone to zone—Thus the torn vessel felt th’ enormous stroke,The boats beneath the thundering deluge broke;Torn from their planks the cracking ring-bolts drew,And gripes and lashings all asunder flew;Companion, binacle, in floating wreck,With compasses and glasses strewed the deck;The balanced mizen, rending to the head,In fluttering fragments from its bolt-rope fled;The sides convulsive shook on groaning beams,And, rent with labour, yawned their pitchy seams.They sound the well, and, terrible to hear!Five feet immersed along the line appear:At either pump they ply the clanking brake,And, turn by turn, th’ ungrateful office take:Rodmond, Arion, and Palemon hereAt this sad task all diligent appear—As some strong citadel begirt with foesTries long the tide of ruin to oppose,Destruction near her spreads his black array,And Death and Sorrow mark his horrid way:Till, in some destined hour, against her wallIn tenfold rage the fatal thunders fall;It breaks! it bursts before the cannonade!And following hosts the shattered domes invade:Her inmates long repel the hostile flood,And shield their sacred charge in streams of blood;So the brave mariners their pumps attend,And help incessant, by rotation, lend;But all in vain! for now the sounding cord,Updrawn, an undiminished depth explored.Nor this severe distress is found alone,The ribs opprest by ponderous cannon groan;Deep rolling from the watery volume’s height,The tortur’d sides seem bursting with their weight—So reels Pelorus with convulsive throes,When in his veins the burning earthquake glows;Hoarse through his entrails roars th’ infernal flame,And central thunders rend his groaning frame—Accumulated mischiefs thus arise,And Fate, vindictive, all their skill defies;For this, one remedy is only known,From the torn ship her metal must be thrown;Eventful task! which last distress requires,And dread of instant death alone inspires;For, while intent the yawning decks to ease,Filled ever and anon with rushing seas,Some fatal billow with recoiling sweepMay whirl the helpless wretches in the deep.No season this for counsel or delay;Too soon th’ eventful moments haste away!Here Perseverance, with each help of Art,Must join the boldest efforts of the heart;These only now their misery can relieve,These only now a dawn of safety give.While o’er the quivering deck from van to rearBroad surges roll in terrible career,Rodmond, Arion, and a chosen crew,This office in the face of death pursue;The wheeled artillery o’er the deck to guide,Rodmond descending claimed the weather-side;Fearless of heart, the Chief his orders gave,Fronting the rude assaults of every wave—Like some strong watch-tower nodding o’er the deep,Whose rocky base the foaming waters sweep.Untamed he stood; the stern aërial warHad marked his honest face with many a scar;Meanwhile Arion, traversing the waist,}The cordage of the leeward-guns unbraced,}And pointed crows beneath the metal placed.}Watching the roll, their forelocks they withdrew,And from their beds the reeling cannon threw;Then, from the windward battlements unbound,Rodmond’s associates wheeled th’ artillery round;Pointed with iron fangs, their bars beguileThe ponderous arms across the steep defile;Then, hurled from sounding hinges o’er the side,Thundering they plunge into the flashing tide.The ship, thus eased, some little respite findsIn this rude conflict of the seas and winds—Such ease Alcides felt, when, clogged with gore,Th’ envenom’d mantle from his side he tore;When, stung with burning pain, he strove too lateTo stop the swift career of cruel Fate;Yet then his heart one ray of hope procured,Sad harbinger of sevenfold pangs endured—Such, and so short, the pause of woe she found!Cimmerian darkness shades the deep around,Save when the lightnings in terrific blazeDeluge the cheerless gloom with horrid rays;Above, all ether fraught with scenes of woeWith grim destruction threatens all below:Beneath, the storm-lashed surges furious rise,And wave uprolled on wave assails the skies;With ever-floating bulwarks they surroundThe ship, half-swallowed in the black profound.With ceaseless hazard and fatigue opprest,Dismay and anguish every heart possest;For while, with sweeping inundation, o’erThe sea-beat ship the booming waters roar,Displaced beneath by her capacious womb,They rage their ancient station to resume;By secret ambushes, their force to prove,Through many a winding channel first they rove;Till gathering fury, like the fevered blood,Through her dark veins they roll a rapid flood:When unrelenting thus the leaks they found,The clattering pumps with clanking strokes resound;Around each leaping valve, by toil subdued,The tough bull-hide must ever be renewed:Their sinking hearts unusual horrors chill,And down their weary limbs thick dews distil;No ray of light their dying hope redeems,Pregnant with some new woe, each moment teems.Again the Chief th’ instructive chart extends,And o’er the figured plane attentive bends;To him the motion of each orb was known,That wheels around the sun’s refulgent throne;But here, alas! his science nought avails,Skill droops unequal, and experience fails;The different traverses, since twilight made,He on the hydrographic circle laid;Then, in the graduated arch contained,The angle of lee-way, seven points, remained.—Her place discovered by the rules of art,Unusual terrors shook the master’s heart,When, on th’ immediate line of drift, he foundThe rugged isle, with rocks and breakers bound,Of Falconera; distant only nowNine lessening leagues beneath the leeward bow;For, if on those destructive shallows tost,The helpless bark with all her crew are lost;As fatal still appears, that danger o’er,The steep St. George, and rocky Gardalor.With him the pilots, of their hopeless state,In mournful consultation, long debate—Not more perplexing doubts her chiefs appalWhen some proud city verges to her fall,While ruin glares around, and pale affrightConvenes her councils in the dead of night.No blazoned trophies o’er their concave spread,Nor storied pillars raised aloft their head:But here the queen of shade around them threwHer dragon wing, disastrous to the view!Dire was the scene with whirlwind, hail, and shower;Black Melancholy ruled the fearful hour:Beneath, tremendous rolled the flashing tide,Where Fate on every billow seemed to ride—Enclosed with ills, by peril unsubdued,Great in distress the master-seaman stood!Skilled to command; deliberate to advise;Expert in action; and in council wise—Thus to his partners, by the crew unheard,The dictates of his soul the Chief referred:“Ye faithful mates! who all my troubles share,Approved companions of your master’s care!To you, alas! ’twere fruitless now to tellOur sad distress, already known too well:This morn with favouring gales the port we left,Though now of every flattering hope bereft:No skill, nor long experience could forecastTh’ unseen approach of this destructive blast;These seas, where storms at various seasons blow,No reigning winds nor certain omens know:The hour, th’ occasion, all your skill demands,A leaky ship, embayed by dangerous lands!Our bark no transient jeopardy surrounds,Groaning she lies beneath unnumbered wounds:’Tis ours the doubtful remedy to find,To shun the fury of the seas and wind;For in this hollow swell, with labour sore,Her flank can bear the bursting floods no more.One only shift, though desperate, we must try,And that, before the boisterous storm to fly:Then less her sides will feel the surges’ powerWhich thus may soon the foundering hull devour.’Tis true, the vessel and her costly freight,To me consigned, my orders only wait;Yet, since, the charge of every life is mine,To equal votes our counsels I resign—Forbid it, Heaven! that in this dreadful hourI claim the dangerous reins of purblind power!But should we now resolve to bear away,Our hopeless state can suffer no delay:Nor can we, thus bereft of every sail,Attempt to steer obliquely on the gale:For then, if broaching sideway to the sea,Our dropsied ship may founder by the lee;Vain all endeavours then to bear away,Nor helm, nor pilot, would she more obey.”He said: the listening mates with fixed regard,And silent reverence, his opinion heard;Important was the question in debate,And o’er their counsels hung impending fate:Rodmond, in many a scene of peril tried,Had oft the master’s happier skill descried,Yet now, the hour, the scene, th’ occasion known,Perhaps with equal right preferred his own;Of long experience in the naval art,Blunt was his speech, and naked was his heart;Alike to him each climate, and each blast,The first in danger, in retreat the last:Sagacious, balancing th’ opposed events,From Albert his opinion thus dissents.—“Too true the perils of the present hour,Where toils succeeding toils our strength o’erpower!Our bark, ’tis true, no shelter here can find,Sore shattered by the ruffian seas and wind:Yet where with safety can we dare to scudBefore this tempest, and pursuing flood?At random driven, to present death we haste,And one short hour perhaps may be our last:Though Corinth’s gulf extend along the lee,To whose safe ports appears a passage free,Yet think! this furious unremitting galeDeprives the ship of every ruling sail;And if before it she directly flies,New ills enclose us, and new dangers rise:Here Falconera spreads her lurking snares,There distant Greece her rugged shelves prepares;Our hull, if once it strikes that iron coast,Asunder bursts, in instant ruin lost;Nor she alone, but with her all the crew,Beyond relief, are doomed to perish too:Such mischiefs follow if we bear away;O safer that sad refuge—to delay!“Then of our purpose this appears the scope,To weigh the danger with the doubtful hope:Though sorely buffeted by every sea,Our hull unbroken long may try a-lee;The crew, though harassed much with toils severe,Still at their pumps, perceive no hazards near:Shall we, incautious, then the danger tell,At once their courage and their hope to quell?Prudence forbids! this southern tempest soonMay change its quarter with the changing moon;Its rage, though terrible, may soon subside,Nor into mountains lash th’ unruly tide:These leaks shall then decrease—the sails once moreDirect our course to some relieving shore.”Thus while he spoke, around from man to manAt either pump a hollow murmur ran:For, while the vessel through unnumbered chinks,Above, below, th’ invading water drinks,Sounding her depth they eyed the wetted scale,And lo! the leaks o’er all their powers prevail:Yet at their post, by terrors unsubdued,They with redoubling force their task pursued.And now the senior pilots seemed to waitArion’s voice, to close the dark debate:Not o’er his vernal life the ripening sunHad yet, progressive, twice ten summers run;Slow to debate, yet eager to excel,In thy sad school, stern Neptune! taught too well:With lasting pain to rend his youthful heartDire Fate in venom dipt her keenest dart;Till his firm spirit, tempered long to ill,Forgot her persecuting scourge to feel:But now the horrors, that around him roll,Thus roused to action his rekindling soul:“Can we, delayed in this tremendous tide,A moment pause what purpose to decide?Alas! from circling horrors thus combined,One method of relief alone we find:Thus water-logged, thus helpless to remainAmid this hollow, how ill-judged! how vain!Our sea-breach’d vessel can no longer bearThe floods, that o’er her burst in dread career;The labouring hull already seems half-filledWith water through an hundred leaks distilled;Thus drenched by every wave, her riven deck,Stript, and defenceless, floats a naked wreck;At every pitch th’ o’erwhelming billows bendBeneath their load the quivering bowsprit’s end;A fearful warning! since the masts on highOn that support with trembling hope rely;At either pump our seamen pant for breath,In dire dismay, anticipating death;Still all our powers th’ increasing leaks defy,We sink at sea, no shore, no haven nigh:One dawn of hope yet breaks athwart the gloomTo light and save us from a watery tomb;That bids us shun the death impending here,Fly from the following blast, and shoreward steer.“’Tis urged indeed, the fury of the galePrecludes the help of every guiding sail;And, driven before it on the watery waste,To rocky shores and scenes of death we haste;But haply Falconera we may shun,And long to Grecian coasts is yet the run:Less harassed then, our scudding ship may bearTh’ assaulting surge repelled upon her rear,And since as soon that tempest may decay,When steering shoreward—wherefore thus delay?Should we at last be driven by dire decreeToo near the fatal margin of the sea,The hull dismasted there awhile may ride,With lengthened cables, on the raging tide;Perhaps kind Heaven, with interposing power,May curb the tempest ere that dreadful hour;But here, ingulfed and foundering, while we stay,Fate hovers o’er, and marks us for her prey.”He said: Palemon saw with grief of heart,The storm prevailing o’er the pilot’s art;In silent terror and distress involved,He heard their last alternative resolved:High beat his bosom—with such fear subdued,Beneath the gloom of some enchanted wood,Oft in old time the wandering swain exploredThe midnight wizards, breathing rites abhorred;Trembling, approached their incantations fell,And, chilled with horror, heard the songs of hell.Arion saw, with secret anguish moved,The deep affliction of the friend he loved,And all awake to Friendship’s genial heatHis bosom felt consenting tremors beat!Alas! no season this for tender love,Far hence the music of the myrtle grove—He tried with soft persuasion’s melting lorePalemon’s fainting courage to restore;His wounded spirit healed with friendship’s balm,And bade each conflict of the mind be calm.Now had the pilots all th’ events revolved,And on their final refuge thus resolved—When, like the faithful shepherd who beholdsSome prowling wolf approach his fleecy folds,To the brave crew, whom racking doubts perplex,The dreadful purpose Albert thus directs:“Unhappy partners in a wayward fate!Whose courage now is known perhaps too late;Ye! who unmoved behold this angry stormIn conflict all the rolling deep deform;Who, patient in adversity, still bearThe firmest front when greatest ills are near;The truth, though painful, I must now reveal,That long in vain I purposed to conceal:Ingulfed, all help of art we vainly try,To weather leeward shores, alas! too nigh:Our crazy bark no longer can abideThe seas, that thunder o’er her battered side;And while the leaks a fatal warning giveThat in this raging sea she cannot live,One only refuge from despair we find—At once to wear and scud before the wind:Perhaps e’en then to ruin we may steer,}For rocky shores beneath our lee appear;}But that’s remote, and instant death is here:}Yet there, by Heaven’s assistance, we may gainSome creek or inlet of the Grecian main;Or, sheltered by some rock, at anchor rideTill with abating rage the blast subside:But if, determined by the will of Heaven,Our helpless bark at last ashore is driven,These counsels followed, from a watery graveOur crew perhaps amid the surf may save:—“And first, let all our axes be secured,To cut the masts and rigging from aboard;Then to the quarters bind each plank and oarTo float between the vessel and the shore:The longest cordage too must be conveyedOn deck, and to the weather-rails belayed:So they, who haply reach alive the land,Th’ extended lines may fasten on the strand,Whene’er, loud thundering on the leeward shore,While yet aloof, we hear the breakers roar:Thus for the terrible event prepar’d,Brace fore and aft to starboard every yard;So shall our masts swim lighter on the wave,And from the broken rocks our seamen save;Then westward turn the stem, that every mastMay shoreward fall as from the vessel cast.When o’er her side once more the billows bound,Ascend the rigging till she strikes the ground;And, when you hear aloft the dreadful shockThat strikes her bottom on some pointed rock,The boldest of our sailors must descendThe dangerous business of the deck to tend:Then burst the hatches off, and every stayAnd every fastening laniard cut away;Planks, gratings, booms, and rafts to leeward cast,Then with redoubled strokes attack each mast,That buoyant lumber may sustain you o’erThe rocky shelves and ledges to the shore:But as your firmest succour, till the last,O cling securely on each faithful mast!Though great the danger, and the task severe,Yet bow not to the tyranny of fear;If once that slavish yoke your souls subdue,Adieu to hope! to life itself adieu!“I know among you some have oft beheldA bloodhound train, by rapine’s lust impell’d,On England’s cruel coast impatient stand,To rob the wanderers wrecked upon their strand:These, while their savage office they pursue,Oft wound to death the helpless plundered crew,Who, ’scaped from every horror of the main,Implored their mercy, but implored in vain:Yet dread not this, a crime to Greece unknown,Such bloodhounds all her circling shores disown;Who, though by barb’rous tyranny opprest,Can share affliction with the wretch distrest:Their hearts, by cruel fate inured to grief,Oft to the friendless stranger yield relief.”With conscious horror struck, the naval bandDeserted for a while their native land;They cursed the sleeping vengeance of the laws,That thus forgot her guardian sailors’ cause.Meanwhile the master’s voice again they heard,Whom, as with filial duty, all revered:“No more remains—but now a trusty bandMust ever at the pumps industrious stand;And, while with us the rest attend to wear,Two skilful seamen to the helm repair—And Thou, Eternal Power! whose awful sway,The storms revere, and roaring seas obey!On thy supreme assistance we rely;Thy mercy supplicate, if doomed to die!Perhaps this storm is sent with healing breathFrom neighb’ring shores to scourge disease and death:’Tis ours on thine unerring laws to trust,With thee, great Lord! ‘whatever is, is just.’”He said: and, with consenting reverence fraught,The sailors joined his prayer in silent thought:His intellectual eye, serenely bright,Saw distant objects with prophetic light—Thus in a land, that lasting wars oppress,That groans beneath misfortune and distress;Whose wealth to conquering armies falls a prey,Till all her vigour, pride, and fame decay;Some bold sagacious statesman, from the helm,Sees desolation gathering o’er his realm;He darts around his penetrating eyes,Where dangers grow, and hostile unions rise;With deep attention marks th’ invading foe,Eludes their wiles and frustrates every blow,Tries his last art the tottering state to save,Or in its ruins find a glorious grave.Still in the yawning trough the vessel reels,Ingulphed beneath two fluctuating hills;On either side they rise, tremendous scene!A long dark melancholy vale between:The balanced ship now forward, now behind,}Still felt th’ impression of the waves and wind,}And to the right and left by turns inclin’d;}But Albert from behind the balance drew,And on the prow its double efforts threw.The order now was given to bear away!The order given, the timoneers obey:Both stay-sails sheets to mid-ships were conveyed,And round the foremast on each side belayed;Thus ready, to the halyards they apply,They hoist! away the flitting ruins fly:Yet Albert new resources still prepares,Conceals his grief, and doubles all his cares.—“Away there! lower the mizen-yard on deck,”He calls, “and brace the foremast yards aback!”His great example every bosom fires,New life enkindles, and new hope inspires.While to the helm unfaithful still she lies,One desperate remedy at last he tries—“Haste! with your weapons cut the shrouds and stay,And hew at once the mizen-mast away!”He said: to cut the girding stay they run,Soon on each side the severed shrouds are gone:Fast by the fated pine bold Rodmond stands,Th’ impatient axe hung gleaming in his hands;Brandished on high, it fell with dreadful sound,The tall mast groaning felt the deadly wound;Deep gashed beneath, the tottering structure rings,And crashing, thundering, o’er the quarter swings:Thus, when some limb, convulsed with pangs of death,Imbibes the gangrene’s pestilential breath,Th’ experienced artist from the blood betraysThe latent venom, or its course delays;But if th’ infection triumphs o’er his art,Tainting the vital stream that warms the heart,To stop the course of death’s inflaming tides,Th’ infected member from the trunk divides.

I. Adieu! ye pleasures of the sylvan scene,

Where peace, and calm contentment dwell serene:

To me, in vain, on earth’s prolific soil

With summer crowned, th’ Elysian vallies smile;

To me those happier scenes no joy impart,

But tantalize with hope my aching heart:

Ye tempests! o’er my head congenial roll

To suit the mournful music of my soul;

In black progression, lo, they hover near,

Hail, social horrors! like my fate severe:

Old ocean hail! beneath whose azure zone

The secret deep lies unexplored, unknown.

Approach, ye brave companions of the sea!

And fearless view this awful scene with me.

Ye native guardians of your country’s laws!

Ye brave assertors of her sacred cause!

The Muse invites you, judge if she depart,

Unequal, from the thorny rules of art;

In practice trained, and conscious of her power,

She boldly moves to meet the trying hour:

Her voice attempting themes, before unknown

To music, sings distresses all her own.

II. O’er the smooth bosom of the faithless tides,

Propelled by flattering gales, the vessel glides:

Rodmond exulting felt the auspicious wind,

And by a mystic charm its aim confin’d.

The thoughts of home, that o’er his fancy roll,

With trembling joy dilate Palemon’s soul;

Hope lifts his heart, before whose vivid ray

Distress recedes, and danger melts away.

Tall Ida’s summit now more distant grew,

And Jove’s high hill was rising to the view:

When on the larboard quarter they descry

A liquid column towering shoot on high;

The foaming base the angry whirlwinds sweep,

Where curling billows rouse the fearful deep:

Still round, and round, the fluid vortex flies,

Diffusing briny vapours o’er the skies.

This vast phenomenon, whose lofty head,

In Heaven immersed, embracing clouds o’erspread,

In spiral motion first, as seamen deem,

Swells, when the raging whirlwind sweeps the stream.

The swift volution, and th’ enormous train,

Let sages versed in Nature’s lore explain.

The horrid apparition still draws nigh,

And white with foam the whirling billows fly.

The guns were primed; the vessel northward veers,

Till her black battery on the column bears:

The nitre fired; and, while the dreadful sound

Convulsive shook the slumbering air around,

The watery volume, trembling to the sky,

Burst down a dreadful deluge, from on high!

Th’ expanding ocean trembled as it fell,

And felt with swift recoil her surges swell;

But soon, this transient undulation o’er,

The sea subsides, the whirlwinds rage no more.

While southward now th’ increasing breezes veer,

Dark clouds incumbent on their wings appear:

Ahead they see the consecrated grove

Of Cyprus, sacred once to Cretan Jove.

The ship beneath her lofty pressure reels,

And to the freshening gale still deeper heels.

But now, beneath the lofty vessel’s stern,

A shoal of sportive dolphins they discern

Beaming from burnished scales refulgent rays,

Till all the glowing ocean seems to blaze:

In curling wreaths they wanton on the tide,

Now bound aloft, now downward swiftly glide;

Awhile beneath the waves their tracks remain,

And burn in silver streams along the liquid plain.

Soon to the sport of death the crew repair,

Dart the long lance, or spread the baited snare.

One in redoubling mazes wheels along,

And glides unhappy near the triple prong:

Rodmond, unerring, o’er his head suspends

The barbed steel, and every turn attends;

Unerring aimed, the missile weapon flew,

And, plunging, struck the fatal victim through;

Th’ upturning points his ponderous bulk sustain,

On deck he struggles with convulsive pain:

But while his heart the fatal javelin thrills,

And flitting life escapes in sanguine rills,

What radiant changes strike th’ astonished sight!

What glowing hues of mingled shade and light!

Not equal beauties gild the lucid west

With parting beams all o’er profusely drest,

Not lovelier colours paint the vernal dawn,

When orient dews impearl th’ enamelled lawn;

Than from his sides in bright suffusion flow,

That now with gold empyreal seem to glow;

Now in pellucid sapphires meet the view,

And emulate the soft celestial hue;

Now beam a flaming crimson on the eye,

And now assume the purple’s deeper dye:

But here description clouds each shining ray;

What terms of art can Nature’s powers display!

The lighter sails, for summer winds and seas,

Are now dismissed, the straining masts to ease;

Swift on the deck the stud-sails all descend,

Which ready seamen from the yards unbend;

The boats then hoisted in are fixed on board,

And on the deck with fastening gripes secured.

The watchful ruler of the helm no more

With fixed attention eyes th’ adjacent shore,

But by the oracle of truth below,

The wonderous magnet, guides the wayward prow.

The powerful sails, with steady breezes swelled,

Swift and more swift the yielding bark impelled:

Across her stem the parting waters run,

As clouds, by tempests wafted, pass the sun.

Impatient thus she darts along the shore,

Till Ida’s mount, and Jove’s are seen no more;

And while aloof from Retimo she steers,

Maleca foreland full in front appears.

Wide o’er yon Isthmus stands the cypress grove,

That once inclosed the hallowed fane of Jove;

Here too, memorial of his name! is found

A tomb in marble ruins on the ground:

This gloomy tyrant, whose despotic sway

Compelled the trembling nations to obey,

Through Greece for murder, rape, and incest known,

The Muses raised to high Olympus’ throne;

For oft, alas! their venal strains adorn

The prince, whom blushing virtue holds in scorn:

Still Rome and Greece record his endless fame,

And hence yon mountain yet retains his name.

But see! in confluence borne before the blast,

Clouds rolled on clouds the dusky noon o’ercast:

The blackening ocean curls, the winds arise,

And the dark scud in swift succession flies.

While the swoln canvass bends the masts on high,

Low in the wave the leeward cannon lie.

The master calls, to give the ship relief,

‘The topsails lower, and form a single reef!’

Each lofty yard with slackened cordage reels;

Rattle the creaking blocks and ringing wheels.

Down the tall masts the topsails sink amain,

Are manned and reefed, then hoisted up again.

More distant grew receding Candia’s shore,

And southward of the west Cape Spado bore.

Four hours the sun his high meridian throne

Had left, and o’er the Atlantic regions shone;

Still blacker clouds, that all the skies invade,

Draw o’er his sullied orb a dismal shade;

A lowering squall obscures the southern sky,

Before whose sweeping breath the waters fly;

Its weight the top-sails can no more sustain—

‘Reef top-sails, reef!’ the master calls again.

The halyards and top bow-lines soon are gone,

The clue-lines and reef-tackles next they run;

The shivering sails descend; the yards are square;

Then quick aloft the ready crew repair;

The weather-earings and the lee they past,

The reefs enrolled, and every point made fast.

Their task above thus finished, they descend,

And vigilant th’ approaching squall attend;

It comes resistless! and with foaming sweep

Upturns the whitening surface of the deep;

In such a tempest, borne to deeds of death,

The wayward sisters scour the blasted heath.

The clouds, with ruin pregnant, now impend,

And storm, and cataracts tumultuous blend.

Deep, on her side, the reeling vessel lies:

‘Brail up the mizen quick!’ the master cries,

‘Man the clue-garnets! let the main-sheet fly!’

It rends in thousand shivering shreds on high!

The main-sail all in streaming ruins tore,

Loud fluttering, imitates the thunder’s roar:

The ship still labours in th’ oppressive strain,

Low bending, as if ne’er to rise again.

‘Bear up the helm a-weather!’ Rodmond cries;

Swift at the word the helm a-weather flies;

She feels its guiding power, and veers apace,

And now the fore-sail right athwart they brace:

With equal sheets restrained, the bellying sail

Spreads a broad concave to the sweeping gale.

While o’er the foam the ship impetuous flies,

The helm th’ attentive timoneer applies:

As in pursuit along th’ aërial way

With ardent eye the falcon marks his prey.

Each motion watches of the doubtful chace,

Obliquely wheeling through the fluid space;

So, governed by the steersman’s glowing hands,

The regent helm her motion still commands.

But now, the transient squall to leeward past,

Again she rallies to the sullen blast:

The helm to starboard moves; each shivering sail

Is sharply trimmed to clasp th’ augmenting gale—

The mizen draws; she springs aloof once more,

While the forestay-sail balances before.

The fore-sail braced obliquely to the wind,

They near the prow th’ extended tack confin’d;

Then on the leeward sheet the seamen bend,

And haul the bow-line to the bowsprit-end:

To top-sails next they haste: the bunt-lines gone!

Through rattling blocks the clue-lines swiftly run;

Th’ extending sheets on either side are mann’d,

Abroad they come! the fluttering sails expand;

The yards again ascend each comrade mast,

The leeches taught, the halyards are made fast,

The bow-lines hauled, and yards to starboard braced,

And straggling ropes in pendant order placed.

The main-sail, by the squall so lately rent,

In streaming pendants flying, is unbent:

With brails refixed, another soon prepared,

Ascending, spreads along beneath the yard.

To each yard-arm the head-rope they extend,

And soon their earings and their robans bend.

That task performed, they first the braces slack,

Then to the chesstree drag th’ unwilling tack,

And, while the lee clue-garnet’s lowered away,

Taught aft the sheet they tally, and belay.

Now to the north, from Afric’s burning shore,

A troop of porpoises their course explore;

In curling wreaths they gambol on the tide,

Now bound aloft, now down the billow glide:

Their tracks awhile the hoary waves retain,

That burn in sparkling trails along the main—

These fleetest coursers of the finny race,

When threatening clouds th’ ethereal vault deface,

Their route to leeward still sagacious form,

To shun the fury of th’ approaching storm.

III. Fair Candia now no more beneath her lee

Protects the vessel from th’ insulting sea;

Round her broad arms impatient of control,

Roused from the secret deep, to billows roll:

Sunk were the bulwarks of the friendly shore,

And all the scene an hostile aspect wore.

The flattering wind, that late with promised aid

From Candia’s bay th’ unwilling ship betray’d,

No longer fawns beneath the fair disguise,

But like a ruffian on his quarry flies;

Tost on the tide she feels the tempest blow,

And dreads the vengeance of so fell a foe—

As the proud horse with costly trappings gay,

Exulting, prances to the bloody fray;

Spurning the ground he glories in his might,

But reels tumultuous in the shock of fight:

E’en so, caparisoned in gaudy pride,

The bounding vessel dances on the tide.

Fierce and more fierce the gathering tempest grew,

South, and by west, the threatening demon blew;

Auster’s resistless force all air invades,

And every rolling wave more ample spreads:

The ship no longer can her top-sails bear;

No hopes of milder weather now appear.

Bowlines and halyards are cast off again,

Clue-lines hauled down, and sheets let fly amain:

Embrailed each top-sail, and by braces squar’d,

The seamen climb aloft, and man each yard;

They furled the sails, and pointed to the wind

The yards, by rolling tackles then confin’d,

While o’er the ship the gallant boatswain flies;

Like a hoarse mastiff through the storm he cries,

Prompt to direct th’ unskilful still appears,

Th’ expert he praises, and the timid cheers.

Now some, to strike top-gallant yards attend,}

Some, trav’llers up the weather-back stays send,}

At each mast-head the top-ropes others bend:}

The parrels, lifts, and clue-lines soon are gone,

Topped and unrigged, they down the back-stays run;

The yards secure along the booms were laid,

And all the flying ropes aloft belay’d:

Their sails reduced, and all the rigging clear,

Awhile the crew relax from toils severe;

Awhile their spirits, with fatigue opprest,

In vain expect th’ alternate hour of rest—

But with redoubling force the tempests blow,

And watery hills in dread succession flow;

A dismal shade o’ercast the frowning skies,

New troubles grow; fresh difficulties rise;

No season this from duty to descend,

‘All hands on deck’ must now the storm attend.

His race performed, the sacred lamp of day

Now dipt in western clouds his parting ray:

His languid fires, half lost in ambient haze,

Refract along the dusk a crimson blaze;

Till deep immerged the sickening orb descends,

And cheerless night o’er heaven her reign extends;

Sad evening’s hour, how different from the past!

No flaming pomp, no blushing glories cast,

No ray of friendly light is seen around;

The moon and stars in hopeless shade are drown’d.

The ship no longer can whole courses bear,

To reef them now becomes the master’s care;

The sailors, summoned aft, all ready stand,

And man th’ enfolding brails at his command:

But here the doubtful officers dispute,

Till skill, and judgment prejudice confute:

For Rodmond, to new methods still a foe,

Would first, at all events, the sheet let go;

To long-tried practice obstinately warm,

He doubts conviction, and relies on form.

This Albert and Arion disapprove,

And first to brail the tack up firmly move:

‘The watchful seaman, whose sagacious eye

On sure experience may with truth rely,

Who from the reigning cause foretels th’ effect,

This barbarous practice ever will reject:

For, fluttering loose in air, the rigid sail

Soon flits to ruins in the furious gale;

And he, who strives the tempest to disarm,

Will never first embrail the lee yard-arm.’

So Albert spoke; to windward, at his call,

Some seamen the clue-garnet stand to haul—

The tack’s eased off, while the involving clue

Between the pendent blocks ascending flew;

The sheet and weather-brace they now stand by,

The lee clue-garnet, and the bunt-lines ply;

Then, all prepared, ‘Let go the sheet!’ he cries—

Loud rattling, jarring, through the blocks it flies!

Shivering at first, till by the blast impelled,

High o’er the lee yard-arm the canvass swelled;

By spilling lines embraced, with brails confined,

It lies at length unshaken by the wind.

The fore-sail then secured with equal care,

Again to reef the mainsail they repair;

While some above the yard o’er-haul the tye,

Below, the down-haul tackle others ply;

Jears, lifts and brails, a seaman each attends,

And down the mast its mighty yard descends:

When lowered sufficient they securely brace,

And fix the rolling tackle in its place;

The reef-lines and their earings now prepared,

Mounting on pliant shrouds they man the yard:

Far on the extremes appear two able hands,

For no inferior skill this task demands.

To windward, foremost, young Arion strides,

The lee yard-arm the gallant boatswain rides:

Each earing to its cringle first they bend,

The reef-band then along the yard extend;

The circling earings round th’ extremes entwin’d,

By outer and by inner turns they bind;

The reef-lines next from hand to hand received,

Through eyelet-holes and roban-legs were reeved;

The folding reefs in plaits inrolled they lay,

Extend the worming lines, and ends belay.

Hadst thou, Arion! held the leeward post

While on the yard by mountain billows tost,

Perhaps Oblivion o’er our tragic tale

Had then for ever drawn her dusky veil;

But ruling Heaven prolonged thy vital date,

Severer ills to suffer, and relate.

For, while aloft the order those attend

To furl the mainsail, or on deck descend;

A sea, upsurging with stupendous roll,

To instant ruin seems to doom the whole:

‘O friends, secure your hold!’ Arion cries—

It comes all dreadful! down the vessel lies

Half buried sideways; while, beneath it tost,

Four seamen off the lee yard-arm are lost:

Torn with resistless fury from their hold,

In vain their struggling arms the yard enfold;

In vain to grapple flying ropes they try,

The ropes, alas! a solid gripe deny:

Prone on the midnight surge with panting breath

They cry for aid, and long contend with Death;

High o’er their heads the rolling billows sweep,

And down they sink in everlasting sleep.

Bereft of power to help, their comrades see

The wretched victims die beneath the lee,

With fruitless sorrow their lost state bemoan,

Perhaps a fatal prelude to their own.

In dark suspense on deck the pilots stand,

Nor can determine on the next command:

Though still they knew the vessel’s armed side

Impenetrable to the clasping tide;

Though still the waters by no secret wound

A passage to her deep recesses found;

Surrounding evils yet they ponder o’er,

A storm, a dangerous sea, and leeward shore!

“Should they, though reefed, again their sails extend,

Again in shivering streamers they may rend;

Or should they stand, beneath th’ oppressive strain

The down-pressed ship may never rise again;

Too late to weather now Morea’s land,

And drifting fast on Athens’ rocky strand.”

Thus they lament the consequence severe,

Where perils unallayed by Hope appear:

Long pondering in their minds each feared event,

At last to furl the courses they consent;

That done, to reef the mizen next agree,

And try beneath it sidelong in the sea.

Now down the mast the yard they lower away,

Then jears and topping-lift secure belay;

The head, with doubling canvass fenced around,

In balance near the lofty peak they bound:

The reef enwrapped, th’ inserting knittles tied,

The halyards throt and peak are next applied—

The order given, the yard aloft they swayed,

The brails relaxed, th’ extended sheet belayed;

The helm its post forsook, and, lashed a-lee,

Inclined the wayward prow to front the sea.

IV. When sacred Orpheus on the Stygian coast,

With notes divine deplored his consort lost;

Though round him perils grew in fell array,

And fates and furies stood to bar his way;

Not more adventurous was th’ attempt, to move

Th’ infernal powers with strains of heavenly love,

Than mine, in ornamental verse to dress

The harshest sounds that terms of art express:

Such arduous toil sage Dædalus endured,

In mazes, self-invented, long immured,

Till genius her superior aid bestowed,

To guide him through that intricate abode—

Thus, long imprisoned in a rugged way

Where Phœbus’ daughters never aimed to stray,

The Muse, that tuned to barbarous sounds her string,

Now spreads, like Dædalus, a bolder wing;

The verse begins in softer strains to flow,

Replete with sad variety of woe.

As yet, amid this elemental war,

Where Desolation in his gloomy car

Triumphant rages round the starless void,

And Fate on every billow seems to ride;

Nor toil, nor hazard, nor distress appear

To sink the seamen with unmanly fear:

Though their firm hearts no pageant honour boast,

They scorn the wretch that trembles at his post;

Who from the face of danger strives to turn,

Indignant from the social hour they spurn;

Though now full oft they felt the raging tide

In proud rebellion climb the vessel’s side;

Though every rising wave more dreadful grows,

And in succession dire the deck o’erflows;

No future ills unknown their souls appal,

They know no danger, or they scorn it all:

But e’en the generous spirits of the brave,

Subdued by toil, a friendly respite crave;

They, with severe fatigue alone opprest,

Would fain indulge an interval of rest.

Far other cares the Master’s mind employ,

Approaching perils all his hopes destroy:

In vain he spreads the graduated chart,

And bounds the distance by the rules of art;

Across the geometric plane expands

The compasses to circumjacent lands;

Ungrateful task! for, no asylum found,

Death yawns on every leeward shore around.—

While Albert thus, with horrid doubts dismayed,

The geometric distances surveyed,

On deck the watchful Rodmond cries aloud,

‘Secure your lives! grasp every man a shroud!’—

Roused from his trance, he mounts with eyes aghast;

When o’er the ship, in undulation vast,

A giant surge down rushes from on high,

And fore and aft dissevered ruins lie:

As when, Britannia’s empire to maintain,

Great Hawke descends in thunder on the main,

Around the brazen voice of battle roars,

And fatal lightnings blast the hostile shores;

Beneath the storm their shattered navies groan;

The trembling deep recoils from zone to zone—

Thus the torn vessel felt th’ enormous stroke,

The boats beneath the thundering deluge broke;

Torn from their planks the cracking ring-bolts drew,

And gripes and lashings all asunder flew;

Companion, binacle, in floating wreck,

With compasses and glasses strewed the deck;

The balanced mizen, rending to the head,

In fluttering fragments from its bolt-rope fled;

The sides convulsive shook on groaning beams,

And, rent with labour, yawned their pitchy seams.

They sound the well, and, terrible to hear!

Five feet immersed along the line appear:

At either pump they ply the clanking brake,

And, turn by turn, th’ ungrateful office take:

Rodmond, Arion, and Palemon here

At this sad task all diligent appear—

As some strong citadel begirt with foes

Tries long the tide of ruin to oppose,

Destruction near her spreads his black array,

And Death and Sorrow mark his horrid way:

Till, in some destined hour, against her wall

In tenfold rage the fatal thunders fall;

It breaks! it bursts before the cannonade!

And following hosts the shattered domes invade:

Her inmates long repel the hostile flood,

And shield their sacred charge in streams of blood;

So the brave mariners their pumps attend,

And help incessant, by rotation, lend;

But all in vain! for now the sounding cord,

Updrawn, an undiminished depth explored.

Nor this severe distress is found alone,

The ribs opprest by ponderous cannon groan;

Deep rolling from the watery volume’s height,

The tortur’d sides seem bursting with their weight—

So reels Pelorus with convulsive throes,

When in his veins the burning earthquake glows;

Hoarse through his entrails roars th’ infernal flame,

And central thunders rend his groaning frame—

Accumulated mischiefs thus arise,

And Fate, vindictive, all their skill defies;

For this, one remedy is only known,

From the torn ship her metal must be thrown;

Eventful task! which last distress requires,

And dread of instant death alone inspires;

For, while intent the yawning decks to ease,

Filled ever and anon with rushing seas,

Some fatal billow with recoiling sweep

May whirl the helpless wretches in the deep.

No season this for counsel or delay;

Too soon th’ eventful moments haste away!

Here Perseverance, with each help of Art,

Must join the boldest efforts of the heart;

These only now their misery can relieve,

These only now a dawn of safety give.

While o’er the quivering deck from van to rear

Broad surges roll in terrible career,

Rodmond, Arion, and a chosen crew,

This office in the face of death pursue;

The wheeled artillery o’er the deck to guide,

Rodmond descending claimed the weather-side;

Fearless of heart, the Chief his orders gave,

Fronting the rude assaults of every wave—

Like some strong watch-tower nodding o’er the deep,

Whose rocky base the foaming waters sweep.

Untamed he stood; the stern aërial war

Had marked his honest face with many a scar;

Meanwhile Arion, traversing the waist,}

The cordage of the leeward-guns unbraced,}

And pointed crows beneath the metal placed.}

Watching the roll, their forelocks they withdrew,

And from their beds the reeling cannon threw;

Then, from the windward battlements unbound,

Rodmond’s associates wheeled th’ artillery round;

Pointed with iron fangs, their bars beguile

The ponderous arms across the steep defile;

Then, hurled from sounding hinges o’er the side,

Thundering they plunge into the flashing tide.

The ship, thus eased, some little respite finds

In this rude conflict of the seas and winds—

Such ease Alcides felt, when, clogged with gore,

Th’ envenom’d mantle from his side he tore;

When, stung with burning pain, he strove too late

To stop the swift career of cruel Fate;

Yet then his heart one ray of hope procured,

Sad harbinger of sevenfold pangs endured—

Such, and so short, the pause of woe she found!

Cimmerian darkness shades the deep around,

Save when the lightnings in terrific blaze

Deluge the cheerless gloom with horrid rays;

Above, all ether fraught with scenes of woe

With grim destruction threatens all below:

Beneath, the storm-lashed surges furious rise,

And wave uprolled on wave assails the skies;

With ever-floating bulwarks they surround

The ship, half-swallowed in the black profound.

With ceaseless hazard and fatigue opprest,

Dismay and anguish every heart possest;

For while, with sweeping inundation, o’er

The sea-beat ship the booming waters roar,

Displaced beneath by her capacious womb,

They rage their ancient station to resume;

By secret ambushes, their force to prove,

Through many a winding channel first they rove;

Till gathering fury, like the fevered blood,

Through her dark veins they roll a rapid flood:

When unrelenting thus the leaks they found,

The clattering pumps with clanking strokes resound;

Around each leaping valve, by toil subdued,

The tough bull-hide must ever be renewed:

Their sinking hearts unusual horrors chill,

And down their weary limbs thick dews distil;

No ray of light their dying hope redeems,

Pregnant with some new woe, each moment teems.

Again the Chief th’ instructive chart extends,

And o’er the figured plane attentive bends;

To him the motion of each orb was known,

That wheels around the sun’s refulgent throne;

But here, alas! his science nought avails,

Skill droops unequal, and experience fails;

The different traverses, since twilight made,

He on the hydrographic circle laid;

Then, in the graduated arch contained,

The angle of lee-way, seven points, remained.—

Her place discovered by the rules of art,

Unusual terrors shook the master’s heart,

When, on th’ immediate line of drift, he found

The rugged isle, with rocks and breakers bound,

Of Falconera; distant only now

Nine lessening leagues beneath the leeward bow;

For, if on those destructive shallows tost,

The helpless bark with all her crew are lost;

As fatal still appears, that danger o’er,

The steep St. George, and rocky Gardalor.

With him the pilots, of their hopeless state,

In mournful consultation, long debate—

Not more perplexing doubts her chiefs appal

When some proud city verges to her fall,

While ruin glares around, and pale affright

Convenes her councils in the dead of night.

No blazoned trophies o’er their concave spread,

Nor storied pillars raised aloft their head:

But here the queen of shade around them threw

Her dragon wing, disastrous to the view!

Dire was the scene with whirlwind, hail, and shower;

Black Melancholy ruled the fearful hour:

Beneath, tremendous rolled the flashing tide,

Where Fate on every billow seemed to ride—

Enclosed with ills, by peril unsubdued,

Great in distress the master-seaman stood!

Skilled to command; deliberate to advise;

Expert in action; and in council wise—

Thus to his partners, by the crew unheard,

The dictates of his soul the Chief referred:

“Ye faithful mates! who all my troubles share,

Approved companions of your master’s care!

To you, alas! ’twere fruitless now to tell

Our sad distress, already known too well:

This morn with favouring gales the port we left,

Though now of every flattering hope bereft:

No skill, nor long experience could forecast

Th’ unseen approach of this destructive blast;

These seas, where storms at various seasons blow,

No reigning winds nor certain omens know:

The hour, th’ occasion, all your skill demands,

A leaky ship, embayed by dangerous lands!

Our bark no transient jeopardy surrounds,

Groaning she lies beneath unnumbered wounds:

’Tis ours the doubtful remedy to find,

To shun the fury of the seas and wind;

For in this hollow swell, with labour sore,

Her flank can bear the bursting floods no more.

One only shift, though desperate, we must try,

And that, before the boisterous storm to fly:

Then less her sides will feel the surges’ power

Which thus may soon the foundering hull devour.

’Tis true, the vessel and her costly freight,

To me consigned, my orders only wait;

Yet, since, the charge of every life is mine,

To equal votes our counsels I resign—

Forbid it, Heaven! that in this dreadful hour

I claim the dangerous reins of purblind power!

But should we now resolve to bear away,

Our hopeless state can suffer no delay:

Nor can we, thus bereft of every sail,

Attempt to steer obliquely on the gale:

For then, if broaching sideway to the sea,

Our dropsied ship may founder by the lee;

Vain all endeavours then to bear away,

Nor helm, nor pilot, would she more obey.”

He said: the listening mates with fixed regard,

And silent reverence, his opinion heard;

Important was the question in debate,

And o’er their counsels hung impending fate:

Rodmond, in many a scene of peril tried,

Had oft the master’s happier skill descried,

Yet now, the hour, the scene, th’ occasion known,

Perhaps with equal right preferred his own;

Of long experience in the naval art,

Blunt was his speech, and naked was his heart;

Alike to him each climate, and each blast,

The first in danger, in retreat the last:

Sagacious, balancing th’ opposed events,

From Albert his opinion thus dissents.—

“Too true the perils of the present hour,

Where toils succeeding toils our strength o’erpower!

Our bark, ’tis true, no shelter here can find,

Sore shattered by the ruffian seas and wind:

Yet where with safety can we dare to scud

Before this tempest, and pursuing flood?

At random driven, to present death we haste,

And one short hour perhaps may be our last:

Though Corinth’s gulf extend along the lee,

To whose safe ports appears a passage free,

Yet think! this furious unremitting gale

Deprives the ship of every ruling sail;

And if before it she directly flies,

New ills enclose us, and new dangers rise:

Here Falconera spreads her lurking snares,

There distant Greece her rugged shelves prepares;

Our hull, if once it strikes that iron coast,

Asunder bursts, in instant ruin lost;

Nor she alone, but with her all the crew,

Beyond relief, are doomed to perish too:

Such mischiefs follow if we bear away;

O safer that sad refuge—to delay!

“Then of our purpose this appears the scope,

To weigh the danger with the doubtful hope:

Though sorely buffeted by every sea,

Our hull unbroken long may try a-lee;

The crew, though harassed much with toils severe,

Still at their pumps, perceive no hazards near:

Shall we, incautious, then the danger tell,

At once their courage and their hope to quell?

Prudence forbids! this southern tempest soon

May change its quarter with the changing moon;

Its rage, though terrible, may soon subside,

Nor into mountains lash th’ unruly tide:

These leaks shall then decrease—the sails once more

Direct our course to some relieving shore.”

Thus while he spoke, around from man to man

At either pump a hollow murmur ran:

For, while the vessel through unnumbered chinks,

Above, below, th’ invading water drinks,

Sounding her depth they eyed the wetted scale,

And lo! the leaks o’er all their powers prevail:

Yet at their post, by terrors unsubdued,

They with redoubling force their task pursued.

And now the senior pilots seemed to wait

Arion’s voice, to close the dark debate:

Not o’er his vernal life the ripening sun

Had yet, progressive, twice ten summers run;

Slow to debate, yet eager to excel,

In thy sad school, stern Neptune! taught too well:

With lasting pain to rend his youthful heart

Dire Fate in venom dipt her keenest dart;

Till his firm spirit, tempered long to ill,

Forgot her persecuting scourge to feel:

But now the horrors, that around him roll,

Thus roused to action his rekindling soul:

“Can we, delayed in this tremendous tide,

A moment pause what purpose to decide?

Alas! from circling horrors thus combined,

One method of relief alone we find:

Thus water-logged, thus helpless to remain

Amid this hollow, how ill-judged! how vain!

Our sea-breach’d vessel can no longer bear

The floods, that o’er her burst in dread career;

The labouring hull already seems half-filled

With water through an hundred leaks distilled;

Thus drenched by every wave, her riven deck,

Stript, and defenceless, floats a naked wreck;

At every pitch th’ o’erwhelming billows bend

Beneath their load the quivering bowsprit’s end;

A fearful warning! since the masts on high

On that support with trembling hope rely;

At either pump our seamen pant for breath,

In dire dismay, anticipating death;

Still all our powers th’ increasing leaks defy,

We sink at sea, no shore, no haven nigh:

One dawn of hope yet breaks athwart the gloom

To light and save us from a watery tomb;

That bids us shun the death impending here,

Fly from the following blast, and shoreward steer.

“’Tis urged indeed, the fury of the gale

Precludes the help of every guiding sail;

And, driven before it on the watery waste,

To rocky shores and scenes of death we haste;

But haply Falconera we may shun,

And long to Grecian coasts is yet the run:

Less harassed then, our scudding ship may bear

Th’ assaulting surge repelled upon her rear,

And since as soon that tempest may decay,

When steering shoreward—wherefore thus delay?

Should we at last be driven by dire decree

Too near the fatal margin of the sea,

The hull dismasted there awhile may ride,

With lengthened cables, on the raging tide;

Perhaps kind Heaven, with interposing power,

May curb the tempest ere that dreadful hour;

But here, ingulfed and foundering, while we stay,

Fate hovers o’er, and marks us for her prey.”

He said: Palemon saw with grief of heart,

The storm prevailing o’er the pilot’s art;

In silent terror and distress involved,

He heard their last alternative resolved:

High beat his bosom—with such fear subdued,

Beneath the gloom of some enchanted wood,

Oft in old time the wandering swain explored

The midnight wizards, breathing rites abhorred;

Trembling, approached their incantations fell,

And, chilled with horror, heard the songs of hell.

Arion saw, with secret anguish moved,

The deep affliction of the friend he loved,

And all awake to Friendship’s genial heat

His bosom felt consenting tremors beat!

Alas! no season this for tender love,

Far hence the music of the myrtle grove—

He tried with soft persuasion’s melting lore

Palemon’s fainting courage to restore;

His wounded spirit healed with friendship’s balm,

And bade each conflict of the mind be calm.

Now had the pilots all th’ events revolved,

And on their final refuge thus resolved—

When, like the faithful shepherd who beholds

Some prowling wolf approach his fleecy folds,

To the brave crew, whom racking doubts perplex,

The dreadful purpose Albert thus directs:

“Unhappy partners in a wayward fate!

Whose courage now is known perhaps too late;

Ye! who unmoved behold this angry storm

In conflict all the rolling deep deform;

Who, patient in adversity, still bear

The firmest front when greatest ills are near;

The truth, though painful, I must now reveal,

That long in vain I purposed to conceal:

Ingulfed, all help of art we vainly try,

To weather leeward shores, alas! too nigh:

Our crazy bark no longer can abide

The seas, that thunder o’er her battered side;

And while the leaks a fatal warning give

That in this raging sea she cannot live,

One only refuge from despair we find—

At once to wear and scud before the wind:

Perhaps e’en then to ruin we may steer,}

For rocky shores beneath our lee appear;}

But that’s remote, and instant death is here:}

Yet there, by Heaven’s assistance, we may gain

Some creek or inlet of the Grecian main;

Or, sheltered by some rock, at anchor ride

Till with abating rage the blast subside:

But if, determined by the will of Heaven,

Our helpless bark at last ashore is driven,

These counsels followed, from a watery grave

Our crew perhaps amid the surf may save:—

“And first, let all our axes be secured,

To cut the masts and rigging from aboard;

Then to the quarters bind each plank and oar

To float between the vessel and the shore:

The longest cordage too must be conveyed

On deck, and to the weather-rails belayed:

So they, who haply reach alive the land,

Th’ extended lines may fasten on the strand,

Whene’er, loud thundering on the leeward shore,

While yet aloof, we hear the breakers roar:

Thus for the terrible event prepar’d,

Brace fore and aft to starboard every yard;

So shall our masts swim lighter on the wave,

And from the broken rocks our seamen save;

Then westward turn the stem, that every mast

May shoreward fall as from the vessel cast.

When o’er her side once more the billows bound,

Ascend the rigging till she strikes the ground;

And, when you hear aloft the dreadful shock

That strikes her bottom on some pointed rock,

The boldest of our sailors must descend

The dangerous business of the deck to tend:

Then burst the hatches off, and every stay

And every fastening laniard cut away;

Planks, gratings, booms, and rafts to leeward cast,

Then with redoubled strokes attack each mast,

That buoyant lumber may sustain you o’er

The rocky shelves and ledges to the shore:

But as your firmest succour, till the last,

O cling securely on each faithful mast!

Though great the danger, and the task severe,

Yet bow not to the tyranny of fear;

If once that slavish yoke your souls subdue,

Adieu to hope! to life itself adieu!

“I know among you some have oft beheld

A bloodhound train, by rapine’s lust impell’d,

On England’s cruel coast impatient stand,

To rob the wanderers wrecked upon their strand:

These, while their savage office they pursue,

Oft wound to death the helpless plundered crew,

Who, ’scaped from every horror of the main,

Implored their mercy, but implored in vain:

Yet dread not this, a crime to Greece unknown,

Such bloodhounds all her circling shores disown;

Who, though by barb’rous tyranny opprest,

Can share affliction with the wretch distrest:

Their hearts, by cruel fate inured to grief,

Oft to the friendless stranger yield relief.”

With conscious horror struck, the naval band

Deserted for a while their native land;

They cursed the sleeping vengeance of the laws,

That thus forgot her guardian sailors’ cause.

Meanwhile the master’s voice again they heard,

Whom, as with filial duty, all revered:

“No more remains—but now a trusty band

Must ever at the pumps industrious stand;

And, while with us the rest attend to wear,

Two skilful seamen to the helm repair—

And Thou, Eternal Power! whose awful sway,

The storms revere, and roaring seas obey!

On thy supreme assistance we rely;

Thy mercy supplicate, if doomed to die!

Perhaps this storm is sent with healing breath

From neighb’ring shores to scourge disease and death:

’Tis ours on thine unerring laws to trust,

With thee, great Lord! ‘whatever is, is just.’”

He said: and, with consenting reverence fraught,

The sailors joined his prayer in silent thought:

His intellectual eye, serenely bright,

Saw distant objects with prophetic light—

Thus in a land, that lasting wars oppress,

That groans beneath misfortune and distress;

Whose wealth to conquering armies falls a prey,

Till all her vigour, pride, and fame decay;

Some bold sagacious statesman, from the helm,

Sees desolation gathering o’er his realm;

He darts around his penetrating eyes,

Where dangers grow, and hostile unions rise;

With deep attention marks th’ invading foe,

Eludes their wiles and frustrates every blow,

Tries his last art the tottering state to save,

Or in its ruins find a glorious grave.

Still in the yawning trough the vessel reels,

Ingulphed beneath two fluctuating hills;

On either side they rise, tremendous scene!

A long dark melancholy vale between:

The balanced ship now forward, now behind,}

Still felt th’ impression of the waves and wind,}

And to the right and left by turns inclin’d;}

But Albert from behind the balance drew,

And on the prow its double efforts threw.

The order now was given to bear away!

The order given, the timoneers obey:

Both stay-sails sheets to mid-ships were conveyed,

And round the foremast on each side belayed;

Thus ready, to the halyards they apply,

They hoist! away the flitting ruins fly:

Yet Albert new resources still prepares,

Conceals his grief, and doubles all his cares.—

“Away there! lower the mizen-yard on deck,”

He calls, “and brace the foremast yards aback!”

His great example every bosom fires,

New life enkindles, and new hope inspires.

While to the helm unfaithful still she lies,

One desperate remedy at last he tries—

“Haste! with your weapons cut the shrouds and stay,

And hew at once the mizen-mast away!”

He said: to cut the girding stay they run,

Soon on each side the severed shrouds are gone:

Fast by the fated pine bold Rodmond stands,

Th’ impatient axe hung gleaming in his hands;

Brandished on high, it fell with dreadful sound,

The tall mast groaning felt the deadly wound;

Deep gashed beneath, the tottering structure rings,

And crashing, thundering, o’er the quarter swings:

Thus, when some limb, convulsed with pangs of death,

Imbibes the gangrene’s pestilential breath,

Th’ experienced artist from the blood betrays

The latent venom, or its course delays;

But if th’ infection triumphs o’er his art,

Tainting the vital stream that warms the heart,

To stop the course of death’s inflaming tides,

Th’ infected member from the trunk divides.

END OF THE SECOND CANTO.

Back to Index Next