A spell is on me, as around I cast

My sight on thy ship's tackle, yards, and mast, 2975
And I could linger here, and not be gone

Till the day fade and stars wake one by one.
Youth! on Decatur's glory* fix thine eye
With steadfast glance—as, rapid through the sky,

Stephen Decatur first distinguished himself in the Barbary War (from 1801 to 1805), under Commodore Preble, in the Mediterranean, where he became the idol of the American nation, by his intrepidity in cutting out the Philadelphia frigate, with the boats of the squadron, from under the fire of the batteries of Tripoli. At the declaration of war against Great Britain, he was appointed to the command of the frigate United States; and October the 25th, 1812, on the American coast, fell in with and captured the British frigate Macedonian, Captain Carden, after a spirited engagement. It is affirmed that Decatur's fire was never equalled by any single deck; and in his letter to the Secretary of the American Navy, he does not betray any exultation at the capture of an English frigate, but rather finds an excuse for the length of the action: he got his prize safe into New York. During a considerable part of the war he was blockaded at New London, by Sir Thomas Hardy, and January 15th, 1815, in putting to sea, in the President, his ship grounded off Sandy Hook, but got off again injured in her sailing, and was chased by the British squadron, composed of the Majestic, a razee, the Endymion, the Pomone, and Tenedos. The Endymion, by her superior sailing, was the first up with the President, when, at half-past five in the evening, an action commenced with great gallantry on both sides, and Decatur, unawed by the overwhelming force in sight, fought his ship with unbroken courage. After an obstinate running fight of two hours, the Endymion's sails being cut from the yards, she consequently dropped astern; but notwithstanding the President crowded all sail, the squadron came up with her, and after receiving a broadside from the Pomone, Decatur, at half past eleven at night, struck those colours which he had so honourably defended.

Orion, carried in his rival-car,

Turn'd to the Pleiades, directs his star.

2980

He said, when through the naval concourse flung
A haggard youth, and to the monarch clung,

And, murmuring moving tones amidst his woes,
With gestures strove his purpose to disclose. 2985
Ill-fated boy! he spoke but with his eye,
And hand that pointed to the verging sky;
With voiceless motion kneeling to implore
The king to take him in his car on shore.

Then press'd the sergeant through the glittering band
Of swords and epaulettes, and stretch'd his hand
The importuning maniac to restrain,

2995

And bear him from the sea's sole sovereign.
But Neptune felt compassion as he gaz d:-
The wretched mortal in his arms he rais'd,
And gave him to the midshipmen who stood
Plucking his robe in fond, familiar mood,
(Youths who preferr'd the toil that billows bring
To soft repose beneath a mother's wing)
To Paul, who, look'd transfix'd by sorrow's dart,
As he receiv'd the sufferer to his heart,
And kind-caressing Frank, whose gayer grace
Play'd in his smile, and sparkled o'er his face.

LXV.

3005

Meantime the monarch looking o'er the chains,*
Instinctive, with a seaman's eye complains:
Captain, excuse my meddling, but behold
A starboard main-shroud, in the war grown old,
Is stranded near the service, and demands

A knot or splice from some sea-farer's hands.
The chief, with smiles, his gratitude express'd, 3010
And thus a school-boy-midshipman address'd:

The captain of the main-top hither send,
And bid him loose the laniard end for end,

Clap on his tackle with a seaman's care,

Knot the part stranded, and the fault repair. 3015

LXVI.

spray,

Now while the snorting coursers paw the
With feet of storm, impatient of delay-
The jolly monarch thus the chief address'd,
As in his own the seaman's hand he press'd:

The chains, or rather chain-wales, project from either side of the ship, abreast of the lower-masts, and contain the dead-eyes for the reception of the laniards of the shrouds.

True to thy country, and thy country's fame, 3020
Pledge me in one more bowl Columbia's name;
As some return, sweet piping through your shrouds,
Propitious gales shall chase the scattering clouds,
And soon from deck the gladden'd vision hail
The headland signal of your whitening sail.
Then Glaucus (who his steeds could scarce restrain)
A mournful cadence pour'd along the main
Through his conch-shell. From all the salt pro-

found

The confluent waters echo'd back the sound.
Alien the notice fell on Neptune's ear,

3025

3040

When thus the groom, who ill his freak could bear;
Look where he stands! rolling his azure eyes,
As to his lapping tongue his hand applies

The full-crown'd bowl:-he's like a vessel moor'd
When once he gets his drinking tacks on board.
Come, master, let this gallon be your last.
As they serve out the grog here to the mast,
Discretion urges, since the rum is strong,
At the jib-halliards not to pull too long.
Then the king thus: Triton, you misbehave.
Peace! or I'll give thee to this chief a slave.
Ere others' failings thy sharp tongue assail,
Take the kink out of thy own noisome tail.
Glaucus replies: It weaves your brow a wreath
Always to throw my tail into my teeth-

3045

3050

It has its use when laughing from my lip
The brine, 'tis like a rudder to a ship.
Though in a porpoise-point I end below,
Neither ill favour'd is my cheek or brow,
And as I stand and view you face to face,
Few are more seemly of the mortal race.
Not me could absent Proteus e'er excel
In the rare art to sound the crooked shell-
Hark! to its mellow descant o'er the spray,
And how each blast articulates away!
Come, master, try the parting shock to bear-
Peace, Glaucus, peace! I'm fix'd and rooted here.
Master, I pray you, fly the treacherous bowl,
"Tis not ship-shape to grieve your spouse's soul.
Mark but the sun! how wears the fleeting day, 3060
"Tis time to pipe down hammocks-come, away!

3055

In ships of war the crew carry their hammocks upon deck every morning, and at sun-set they are piped below; the boatswain's mates winding their shrill calls, and growling out at each hatchway "Down all hammocks, ahoy!" Then swarm up the ladders the seamen to the nettings, seeking their sacks of war: exhibiting at each aperture of the deck what Doctor Johnson would, perhaps, have called the full-tide of human existence. On board the Northumberland, when the hammocks were piped down, it was the practice of the young midshipmen to form a ring, linked hand in hand, and rally round Napoleon; in order that he might not be annoyed by the crowd rushing on deck. This was the very soul of youthful generosity, and I never could read the glorious record in Las Casas without emotion. Sunt lacrymæ rerum, et mentem mortalia tangunt.