Some I could win to tell me serious tales Of boats uplifted by enormous whales, Or, when harpoon’d, how swiftly through the sea The wounded monsters with the cordage flee. Yet some uneasy thoughts assail’d me then: The monsters warr’d not with, nor wounded, men. 330 The smaller fry we take, with scales and fins, Who gasp and die--this adds not to our sins; But so much blood, warm life, and frames so large To strike, to murder--seem’d an heavy charge. “They told of days, where many goes to one-- Such days as ours; and how a larger sun, Red, but not flaming, roll’d, with motion slow, On the world’s edge, and never dropt below. “There were fond girls, who took me to their side To tell the story how their lovers died; 340 They praised my tender heart, and bade me prove Both kind and constant when I came to love. In fact, I lived for many an idle year In fond pursuit of agitations dear; For ever seeking, ever pleased to find, The food I loved, I thought not of its kind; It gave affliction while it brought delight, And joy and anguish could at once excite. “One gusty day, now stormy and now still, I stood apart upon the western hill, 350 And saw a race at sea: a gun was heard, And two contending boats in sail appear’d, Equal awhile; then one was left behind, And for a moment had her chance resign’d, When, in that moment, up a sail they drew-- Not used before--their rivals to pursue. Strong was the gale! in hurry now there came Men from the town, their thoughts, their fears the same; And women too! affrighted maids and wives, All deeply feeling for their sailors’ lives. 360 “The strife continued; in a glass we saw The desperate efforts, and we stood in awe: When the last boat shot suddenly before, Then fill’d, and sank--and could be seen no more! “Then were those piercing shrieks, that frantic flight, All hurried! all in tumult and affright! A gathering crowd from different streets drew near; All ask, all answer--none attend, none hear! “One boat is safe; and see! she backs her sail To save the sinking--Will her care avail? 370 “O! how impatient on the sands we tread, And the winds roaring, and the women led, As up and down they pace with frantic air, And scorn a comforter, and will despair; They know not who in either boat is gone, But think the father, husband, lover, one. “And who is she apart? She dares not come To join the crowd, yet cannot rest at home: With what strong interest looks she at the waves, Meeting and clashing o’er the seamen’s graves: 380 ’Tis a poor girl betroth’d--a few hours more, And _he_ will lie a corpse upon the shore. “Strange, that a boy could love these scenes, and cry