The sea-chief stood: in glittering gold array'd—
On his sword's hilt the morn's effulgence play'd- 45
Quick was his eye-its attribute controul-
It aw'd, impress'd, subdued the gazer's soul—
And when his dark brow knitted o'er its glance,
Scarce single-handed would his foe advance.
Now as he rais'd his hand, the naval train
Spontaneous knelt; such stillness held the plain,
That in his highest flight was heard the cry
Of the proud eagle soaring to the sky.
Then as the kindling ardour thrill'd each breast,
The bending crowd the warrior chief address'd: 55
When our forefathers, from Britannia's coast,
On the wide tempest-harrow'd ocean tost,
Left the stern realms of Persecution's reign,
To keep their covenant beyond the main,
The wave escap'd, in gratitude to God,
They rais'd this fane, this sanctified abode.
Sunk are they now, they press the sainted ground,
Where the grav'd tablet scatters praise around,
And from the mariner approaching nigh,
Exacts the tribute of a bosom sigh.
Yet sleep they not in cold oblivion's gloom,
Their pious memory lives beyond the tomb,
Lives in our breasts, and warms with sacred fires,
Another race to emulate their sires.
Yes! ere our vessel tempt the billow's roll,
Breathe we our vows, and lift the ardent soul.
He said, and bending to the holy ground,
With age, and youth, and childhood kneeling round,
Fervent of heart and voice, before the shrine,
Invok'd the succour of the pow'rs divine :
O thou who swayst the seas, thou Lord of all,
At whose command the billows prostrate fall,
O'er the great waters of th' Atlantic main,
Extend thy mercy, and our bark sustain.
Now to the sands the crew descending bend,.
There in a last embrace to strain a friend,
Or sorrowing leave a mother, or a bride,
To
weep the sailor's absence on the tide.
Murmuring they go, as when their kindred deep
Heaves the hoarse surges to some rocky steep;
The boatswain shrilly pipes, the countless throng
Like the sea's waves successive pour along.
The tall New Englanders, a hardy band,
From Barnstaple, and Sajahadoc's strand,
Whose naval ardour rocks nor shoals can bar,
Nor the dread rage of elemental war.
Sons of the storm! with javelin wont to seek
In icy seas the Monster of the Deep,
His form approach, when, from his nostrils wide,
He breathes a tempest, and he spouts a tide.
These our first Watch-to whom the rugged plank Yields slumber sweeter than the mossy bank.
The Pennsylvanians, eager to explore
Old ocean's wildest waves and farthest shore;
Whose prows all-daring range from pole to pole, 100
Far as the breezes blow, the billows roll.
When the rock'd yard dips low its pointed arm, They climb the shrouds-with breasts that scorn aları
Cling to the cord, display the pendant form,
Ply their bold task, and sing beneath the storm. 105
These form a watch-and the same district hail With their great chief who rules the helm and sail.
The gay Virginians-the main-deck train
To point our battle-thunder o'er the main ;
Who, ere they flash the cannon at the prow,
Watch well their own ship's roll-the surge's flow.*
Wild sons of mirth-with eye as eaglet's bright-
Waking to joy, to laughter, and to light.
A watch these form-when on the nightly gale
Our tall ship hangs with broad and steady sail. 115
The American crews are eminently skilled in handling the great guns. It is notorious that their ships have disabled those of the enemy, without sustaining any material damage themselves. I have had occasion to notice that the men, in exercising their guns at a cask on the water, are ever mindful of the heave of the sea, and never fire till the ship is on an even keel. Hence their main-deck battery acquires the precision of a fort.-But this is a horrid subject to the Philanthropist !
The Mississippians, us'd to gallies' sails,
From silver streams that flow through smiling vales, Where the long loaded raft, and cumbrous barge, Trust to the placid wave their weighty charge.
These, in our waist, the sinewy arm afford
To haul the sheets, and get the tacks aboard.*
Last-the Kentuckians, new to naval fame,
From woods and mountains, one wild scene of
From boyhood taught the spiral gun to wield,
And scalp their foe-men prostrate in the field. 125
These in the fight-from the top's airy round,
Direct the tube-inflict the deadly wound.
Inspir'd by freedom, one congenial soul
Pervades the bands, and animates the whole.
The waist of a Frigate is the midship part of the main-deck. The men stationed there are called Waisters, and their principal occupation is to pull and haul.
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