Still vaster rose the angry main. The winds through every shroud complain; The topsails we could spread no more, Though doubly reef'd, the furious blast Away the fluttering canvas bore, And vow'd destruction to the mast. When now the northern storm was quell'd, A calm ensued--but ocean swell'd Beyond the towering mountain's height, Till from the south new winds arose; Our sails we spread at dead of night, And fair, though fierce, the tempest blows. When morning rose, the skies were clear The gentle breezes warm and fair, Convey'd us o'er the wat'ry road; A ship o'ertook us on the way, Her thousand sails were spread abroad, And flutter'd in the face of day. At length, through many a climate pass'd, Cæsaria's hills we saw at last, And reach'd the land of lovely dames; My charming Cælia there I found, 'Tis she my warmest friendship claims, The fairest maid that treads the ground. [175] Unique in the October number of the _United States Magazine_, 1779. The poem doubtless describes the poet's voyage home from the West Indies, in June and July, 1778. END OF VOL. I