But crippled part in splintering fight, The vanquished flying the victor’s flags, With prize-crews, under convoy-guns, Heavy the fleet from Opher drags— The Admiral crowding sail ahead, Foremost with news who foremost in conflict sped. But out from cloistral gallery dim, In early night his glance is thrown; He marks the vague reserve of heaven, He feels the touch of ocean lone; Then turns, in frame part undermined, Nor notes the shadowing wings that fan behind. There, peaked and gray, three haglets fly, And follow, follow fast in wake Where slides the cabin-lustre shy, And sharks from man a glamour take, Seething along the line of light In lane that endless rules the war-ship’s flight. The sea-fowl here, whose hearts none know, They followed late the flag-ship quelled, (As now the victor one) and long Above her gurgling grave, shrill held With screams their wheeling rites—then sped Direct in silence where the victor led. Now winds less fleet, but fairer, blow, A ripple laps the coppered side, While phosphor sparks make ocean gleam, Like camps lit up in triumph wide; With lights and tinkling cymbals meet Acclaiming seas the advancing conqueror greet. But who a flattering tide may trust, Or favoring breeze, or aught in end?— Careening under startling blasts The sheeted towers of sails impend; While, gathering bale, behind is bred A livid storm-bow, like a rainbow dead. At trumpet-call the topmen spring; And, urged by after-call in stress, Yet other tribes of tars ascend The rigging’s howling wilderness; But ere yard-ends alert they win, Hell rules in heaven with hurricane-fire and din. The spars, athwart at spiry height, Like quaking Lima’s crosses rock; Like bees the clustering sailors cling Against the shrouds, or take the shock Flat on the swept yard-arms aslant, Dipped like the wheeling condor’s pinions gaunt. A LULL! and tongues of languid flame Lick every boom, and lambent show Electric ’gainst each face aloft; The herds of clouds with bellowings go: The black ship rears—beset—harassed, Then plunges far with luminous antlers vast. In trim betimes they turn from land, Some shivered sails and spars they stow; One watch, dismissed, they troll the can, While loud the billow thumps the bow— Vies with the fist that smites the board, Obstreperous at each reveller’s jovial word. Of royal oak by storms confirmed, The tested hull her lineage shows: Vainly the plungings whelm her prow— She rallies, rears, she sturdier grows: Each shot-hole plugged, each storm-sail home, With batteries housed she rams the watery dome. DIM seen adrift through driving scud, The wan moon shows in plight forlorn; Then, pinched in visage, fades and fades Like to the faces drowned at morn, When deeps engulfed the flag-ship’s crew, And, shrilling round, the inscrutable haglets flew.