They named the day; and never morn more bright Rose on the river, nor so proud a sight; Or, if too calm appear’d the cloudless skies, Experienced seamen said the wind would rise. To that full quay from this then vacant place Thronged a vast crowd to see the promised Race. Mid boats new painted, all with streamers fair, That flagg’d or flutter’d in that quiet air— 170 The Captain’s boat that was so gay and trim, That made his pride, and seem’d as proud of him— Her, in her beauty, we might all discern, Her rigging new, and painted on the stern, As one who could not in the contest fail, “Learn of _the little Nautilus_ to sail.” So forth they started at the signal gun, And down the river had three leagues to run; This sail’d, they then their watery way retrace, And the first landed conquers in the race. 180 The crowd await, till they no more discern; Then, parting, say, “At evening we return.” I could proceed; but you will guess the fate, And but too well my tale anticipate. _P._ True! yet proceed— _F._ The lovers had some grief In this day’s parting, but the time was brief; And the poor girl, between his smiles and sighs, Ask’d, “Do you wish to gain so poor a prize?” “But that your father wishes,” he replied, “I would the honour had been still denied: 190 It makes me gloomy, though I would be gay, And oh! it seems an everlasting day.” So thought the lass, and as she said, “Farewell!” Soft sighs arose, and tears unbidden fell. The morn was calm, and ev’n till noon the strong Unruffled flood moved quietly along; In the dead calm the billows softly fell, And mock’d the whistling sea-boy’s favourite spell: So rests at noon the reaper, but to rise With mightier force and twofold energies. 200 The deep, broad stream moved softly, all was hush’d, When o’er the flood the breeze awakening brush’d; A sullen sound was heard along the deep, The stormy spirit rousing from his sleep; The porpoise rolling on the troubled wave, Unwieldy tokens of his pleasure gave; Dark, chilling clouds the troubled deep deform, And, led by terror downward, rush’d the storm. As evening came, along the river’s side, Or on the quay, impatient crowds divide, 210 And then collect; some whispering, as afraid Of what they saw, and more of what they said, And yet must speak: how sudden and how great The danger seem’d, and what might be the fate Of men so toss’d about in craft so small, Lost in the dark, and subject to the squall. Then sounds are so appalling in the night, And, could we see, how terrible the sight; None knew the evils that they all suspect, And Hope at once they covet and reject. 220 But where the wife, her friend, her daughter, where? Alas! in grief, in terror, in despair— At home, abroad, upon the quay. No rest In any place, but where they are not, best.