Braced well up, with beams aslant, Betwixt the continents sails the _Phocion,_ For Baltimore bound from Alicant. Blue breezy skies white fleeces fleck Over the chill blue white-capped ocean: From yard-arm comes—“Wreck ho, a wreck!” Dismasted and adrift, Longtime a thing forsaken; Overwashed by every wave Like the slumbering kraken; Heedless if the billow roar, Oblivious of the lull, Leagues and leagues from shoal or shore, It swims—a levelled hull: Bulwarks gone—a shaven wreck, Nameless and a grass-green deck. A lumberman: perchance, in hold Prostrate pines with hemlocks rolled. It has drifted, waterlogged, Till by trailing weeds beclogged: Drifted, drifted, day by day, Pilotless on pathless way. It has drifted till each plank Is oozy as the oyster-bank: Drifted, drifted, night by night, Craft that never shows a light; Nor ever, to prevent worse knell, Tolls in fog the warning bell. From collision never shrinking, Drive what may through darksome smother; Saturate, but never sinking, Fatal only to the _other!_ Deadlier than the sunken reef Since still the snare it shifteth, Torpid in dumb ambuscade Waylayingly it drifteth. O, the sailors—O, the sails! O, the lost crews never heard of! Well the harp of Ariel wails Thought that tongue can tell no word of! TO THE MASTER OF THE _METEOR_ Lonesome on earth’s loneliest deep, Sailor! who dost thy vigil keep— Off the Cape of Storms dost musing sweep Over monstrous waves that curl and comb; Of thee we think when here from brink We blow the mead in bubbling foam. Of thee we think, in a ring we link; To the shearer of ocean’s fleece we drink, And the _Meteor_ rolling home. FAR OFF-SHORE Look, the raft, a signal flying, Thin—a shred; None upon the lashed spars lying, Quick or dead. Cries the sea-fowl, hovering over, “Crew, the crew?” And the billow, reckless, rover, Sweeps anew! THE MAN-OF-WAR HAWK Yon black man-of-war-hawk that wheels in the light O’er the black ship’s white sky-s’l, sunned cloud to the sight, Have we low-flyers wings to ascend to his height? No arrow can reach him; nor thought can attain To the placid supreme in the sweep of his reign. THE FIGURE-HEAD The _Charles-and-Emma_ seaward sped, (Named from the carven pair at prow,) He so smart, and a curly head, She tricked forth as a bride knows how: Pretty stem for the port, I trow! But iron-rust and alum-spray And chafing gear, and sun and dew Vexed this lad and lassie gay, Tears in their eyes, salt tears nor few; And the hug relaxed with the failing glue. But came in end a dismal night, With creaking beams and ribs that groan, A black lee-shore and waters white: Dropped on the reef, the pair lie prone: O, the breakers dance, but the winds they moan! THE GOOD CRAFT _SNOW BIRD_ Strenuous need that head-wind be From purposed voyage that drives at last The ship, sharp-braced and dogged still, Beating up against the blast.