There, peak your oars--wet--line--wet--line-- Why, bloody zounds, you 're dead, men!" The rush of the whale towing the boat, his sounding to the uttermost length of the line, his reappearance, the lancing, the mad dash at the boats, and the death flurry are all described with great vividness, but there is room only for the verses in which the monster comes up from his long dive, and obliges the poet to appeal to the enemy of sea songs, the steam boiler:-- Till from the deep, with mighty leap, Full length the monster breaches,-- So strongly sped, his scarred gray head High as our topmast reaches; And, like a rock, with startling shock, From mountain height descending, Down thunders he upon the sea, Ocean with ether blending. And, hark! once more that lengthened roar, As from his spout-hole gushing, His breath, long spent, now finds a vent, Like steam from boiler rushing. It does not seem that a poet who could write so vividly and forcefully as this ought to be without a place in American literature, even if there were no other interest in his work. There is another whaling song, entitled The Coast of Peru, and undoubtedly the work of a forecastle poet, which is worth preserving, despite its homeliness, for its genuine flavor, and as a relic of the old days before steam whalers and bomb lances took so much of the romance out of the fishery. THE COAST OF PERU. Come, all ye bold sailors, Who sail 'round Cape Horn, Come, all the bold whalers, Who cruise 'round for sperm. The Captain has told us, And I hope't will prove true That there's plenty of sperm whales Off the coast of Peru. The first whale we saw Near the close of the day. Our Captain came on deck, And thus he did say: "Now all my bold sailors, Pray be of good glee, For we 'll see him in the morning, P'raps mider our lee." It was early next morning, Just as the sun rose, The man at the mast-head Called out, "There she blows!" "Whereaway?" cried our Captain, As he sprang up aloft. "Three points on our lee bow, And scarce two miles off." "Now trace up your yards, boys, We 'll fasten anear. Get your lines in your boats, See your box lines all clear; Haul back the main yard, boys, Stand by, each boat's crew, Lower away, lower away, My brave fellows, do." "Now, bend to your oars, boys, Just make the boat fly, But whatever you do, boys, Keep clear from his eye." The first mate soon struck, And the whale he went down, While the old man pulled up, And stood by to bend on. But the whale soon arose; To the windward he lay.