As, keeping equal time at every oar,
They tow the drifting vessel from the shore.
Meantime the common crew, a marshall'd band,
Mingling their clamours, on the gunwale stand,
All arm'd with poles ;-while, as we ride embay'd,
The captain views the tumult undismay'd,
And as again our vessel seaward glides,
With soul superior at the helm presides.
Peril and toil disturb the seaman's breast,
Like the surrounding deep depriv❜d of rest;
And much it boots him that he raise the eye
On bended knee, and supplicate the sky.
When the mild Sabbath smiles o'er ocean's face,
Our well-clad crew collect with decent grace,
And all unsummon'd rev'rently incline
To own the mercy of a power divine.
What though no dome displays its portals bright 3550 With deep-ton'd bell our matins to invite,
Pious on deck, the day we sacred keep,
And make our bark a temple on the deep.
Prelates the stately edifice may boast,
Nature in awful form affects us most:
Not the proud swelling column massy proof,
The moulded pediment, the fretted roof,
The sculptur'd pile to just perfection brought,
With all Vitruvius, all Palladio thought,
Could e'er transport to heav'n the gazer's soul, 3560 Like the wide ocean boundless in its roll.
The holy book, with silver clasps embrac'd,
By the sea-chief is on the capstan plac'd,
With placid look-serene as summer sea,
Not whiten'd with the foam of sanctity.
Now hark, with solemn voice, he reads aloud
The sacred service to the naval crowd,
Who, as their teacher's words ascend in air,
Their bosoms bend in penitence and pray'r.
An unbought pastor, reverend to view,
The bright example of a reclaim'd crew,
Like Noah in his ark, with special grace,
Withdrawn he seem'd from the shore's sinful race.
The ritual clos'd, all chaunt in solemn strain
That psalm which has its comment in the main: 3575
They who in ships their pathless courses keep,
Behold the Lord's great wonders in the deep,
Prompt, at whose bidding, rise the waves profound,
That toss the bark, and spread destruction round.
Now the bold spirits of the sailors fail
Like drunken men they reel beneath the gale.
Ascending on the summit of the wave
With greedy whirls, the haggard wretches rave,
And in the peril of the trying hour
Cry for remission from a heav'nly pow'r:
Nor cry in vain-for, at his sovereign will,
Hush'd is the wind, and every billow still.
What though no organ with its pealing swell
Through the long cloister'd-aisle is heard to dwell,
Not less accepted sounds sweet Sion's song
On the deck chaunted by the simple throng.
While night o'er sea her silver veil displays,
And at the helm the mariner surveys
Orion and the greater Bear-that guide
The trackless path of vessels through the tide-
Now, sudden, from the main-top's airy round,
The watch vociferate with mingled sound,
A sail ahead of formidable mien!
And soon from deck old ocean's guest is seen.
Then thus the chief: our vessel keep away- 3600
Up with the helm!-the timoneers obey.*
Then at each hatch the drum† the ear assails
With doubling din-and Pipe's voice prevails,
As o'er the birth-deck, follow'd by his mates,
Like a bell-wether, to the crew he bleats:
What ho Columbians! to your guns repair-
A prize in sight-up, and the dollars share;
My buckskins, snapping-turtles, tuckahoes,↓
Exalt your standard, and subdue your foes.
Meantime our colours, from the staff unroll'd, 3610
Display the bird in martial prowess bold,
And, as his wings distend in proud array,
The flashing mortar thunders o'er the spray.
Then, as the fluttering stranger backs his sail
Broad on the bow, our chief is heard to hail: 3615
What hoa the ship ahoy! impart your name-
Your country-destin'd port-and whence you
In vain we look aloft your flag to seek―
You shew no bunting at your mizen-peak.
* There are two men stationed to a large ship's wheel, one at the weather, the other at the lee-spokes.
+ When an action impends at sea, the drummer beats to quarters.
The natives of the lower part of the State of Virginia are nicknamed Buckskins-those of the upper region Tuckahoes-and the Kentuckians Snapping Turtles.
You see the Sachem-Baltimore our port- 5620
From Cowes our last-at Lloyd's our ship report.
When on our lee we heard your cannon roar
We guess'd the union at the staff you wore,
Till as you bore away before the breeze,
We saw the stars, the glory of the seas.
What ship is that? so fearfully she looms,
You might our bark hoist in upon your booms.
Our stately ship, alive to naval fame,
Bears on her sculptur'd stern Electra's name.
But why my vessel with your shot detain?
The great highway of nations is the main.
When first hull-down by moonlight you were seen, I took you for some dirty Algerine.
And I, when first I saw you bear away,
And heard your shot athwart my fore-foot* play,
Furious in mood, all desperate for fight,
I took you, captain, for a scurvy knight.t
* A shot crossing the line of a ship's course, but a-head of her, is said to go athwart her fore-foot.
+ In an American there is a good deal of the plainness and rugged fearlessness of an old true stampt Roman, before his country was
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