Yet sometimes groves and meadows gay Delight the seamen on their way; From the deep seas that round us swell With rocks the surges to repel Some verdant isle, by waves embrac'd, Swells, to adorn the wat'ry waste. Though now this vast expanse appear With glassy surface, calm and clear; Be not deceiv'd--'tis but a show, For many a corpse is laid below-- Even Britain's lads--it cannot be-- They were the masters of the sea! Now combating upon the brine, Where ships in flaming squadrons join, At every blast the brave expire 'Midst clouds of smoke, and streams of fire; But scorn all fear; advance with me-- 'Tis but the custom of the sea. Now we the peaceful wave divide, On broken surges now we ride, Now every eye dissolves with woe As on some lee-ward coast we go-- Half lost, half buried in the main Hope scarcely beams on life again. Above us storms distract the sky, Beneath us depths unfathom'd lie, Too near we see, a ghastly sight,[174] The realms of everlasting night, A wat'ry tomb of ocean green And only one frail plank between! But winds must cease, and storms decay, Not always lasts the gloomy day, Again the skies are warm and clear, Again soft zephyrs fan the air, Again we find the long lost shore, The winds oppose our wish no more. If thou hast courage to despise The various changes of the skies, To disregard the ocean's rage, Unmov'd when hostile ships engage, Come from thy forest, and with me Learn what it is to go to sea. [173] From the 1786 edition. In the 1795 edition the title was changed to "The Invitation." Captain John Paul Jones sailed from Isle de Groaix, France, on his memorable cruise, August 14, 1779. To secure a crew for his fleet had been the work of many months. [174] "Disheartening sight."--_Ed. 1795._ THE SEA VOYAGE[175] From a gay island green and fair, With gentle blasts of southern air, Across the deep we held our way, Around our barque smooth waters played, No envious clouds obscur'd the day, Serene came on the evening shade. Still farther to the north we drew, And Porto Rico's mountains blue, Were just decaying on the eye, When from the main arose the sun; Before his ray the shadows fly, As we before the breezes run. Now northward of the tropic pass'd, The fickle skies grew black at last; The ruffian winds began to roar, The sea obey'd their tyrant force, And we, alas! too far from shore, Must now forsake our destin'd course. The studding sails at last to hand, The vent'rous captain gave command; But scarcely to the task went they When a vast billow o'er us broke, And tore the sheets and tacks away, Nor could the booms sustain the stroke.