| |
| SEE how yon flaming herald treads | |
| The ridged and rolling waves, | |
| As, crashing o’er their crested heads, | |
| She bows her surly slaves! | |
| With foam before and fire behind, | 5 |
| She rends the clinging sea, | |
| That flies before the roaring wind, | |
| Beneath her hissing lee. | |
| |
| The morning spray, like sea-born flowers, | |
| With heaped and glistening bells, | 10 |
| Falls round her fast in ringing showers, | |
| With every wave that swells; | |
| And, flaming o’er the midnight deep, | |
| In lurid fringes thrown, | |
| The living gems of ocean sweep | 15 |
| Along her flashing zone. | |
| |
| With clashing wheel, and lifting keel, | |
| And smoking torch on high, | |
| When winds are loud, and billows reel, | |
| She thunders foaming by! | 20 |
| When seas are silent and serene, | |
| With even beam she glides, | |
| The sunshine glimmering through the green | |
| That skirts her gleaming sides. | |
| |
| Now, like a wild nymph, far apart | 25 |
| She veils her shadowy form, | |
| The beating of her restless heart | |
| Still sounding through the storm; | |
| Now answers, like a courtly dame, | |
| The reddening surges o’er, | 30 |
| With flying scarf of spangled flame, | |
| The Pharos of the shore. | |
| |
| To-night yon pilot shall not sleep, | |
| Who trims his narrowed sail; | |
| To-night yon frigate scarce shall keep | 35 |
| Her broad breast to the gale; | |
| And many a foresail, scooped and strained, | |
| Shall break from yard and stay, | |
| Before this smoky wreath has stained | |
| The rising mist of day. | 40 |
| |
| Hark! hark! I hear yon whistling shroud, | |
| I see yon quivering mast; | |
| The black throat of the hunted cloud | |
| Is panting forth the blast! | |
| An hour, and, whirled like winnowing chaff, | 45 |
| The giant surge shall fling | |
| His tresses o’er yon pennon-staff, | |
| White as the sea-bird’s wing! | |
| |
| Yet rest, ye wanderers of the deep; | |
| Nor wind nor wave shall tire | 50 |
| Those fleshless arms, whose pulses leap | |
| With floods of living fire; | |
| Sleep on,—and when the morning light | |
| Streams o’er the shining bay, | |
| O, think of those for whom the night | 55 |
| Shall never wake in day! | |
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