Balanced the impression of the helm and wind; 60 The wounded serpent, agonized with pain, Thus trails his mangled volume on the plain: But now, the wreck, dissever'd from the rear, The long reluctant prow began to veer; While round before the enlarging wind it falls, "Square fore and aft the yards," the master calls, "You, timoneers, her motion still attend, For on your steerage all our lives depend: So, steady! [1] meet her! watch the curving prow, And from the gale directly let her go." 70 "Starboard again!" the watchful pilot cries, "Starboard!" the obedient timoneer replies: Then back to port, revolving at command, The wheel [2] rolls swiftly through each glowing hand. The ship no longer, foundering by the lee, Bears on her side the invasions of the sea; All lonely o'er the desert waste she flies, Scourged on by surges, storms, and bursting skies. As when enclosing harpooneers assail In Hyperborean seas the slumbering whale, 80 Soon as their javelins pierce his scaly side, He groans, he darts impetuous down the tide; And rack'd all o'er with lacerating pain, He flies remote beneath the flood in vain-- So with resistless haste the wounded ship Scuds from pursuing waves along the deep; While, dash'd apart by her dividing prow, Like burning adamant the waters glow; Her joints forget their firm elastic tone, Her long keel trembles, and her timbers groan: 90 Upheaved behind her in tremendous height The billows frown, with fearful radiance bright; Now quivering o'er the topmost waves she rides, While deep beneath the enormous gulf divides; Now launching headlong down the horrid vale, Becalm'd she hears no more the howling gale; Till up the dreadful height again she flies, Trembling beneath the current of the skies. As that rebellious angel, who, from heaven, 100 To regions of eternal pain was driven, When dreadless he forsook the Stygian shore The distant realms of Eden to explore; Here, on sulphureous clouds sublime upheaved, With daring wing the infernal air he cleaved; There, in some hideous gulf descending prone, Far in the void abrupt of night was thrown-- Even so she climbs the briny mountain's height, Then down the black abyss precipitates her flight: The mast, about whose tops the whirlwinds sing, 110 With long vibration round her axle swing. To guide her wayward course amid the gloom, The watchful pilots different posts assume: Albert and Rodmond on the poop appear, There to direct each guiding timoneer; While at the bow the watch Arion keeps, To shun what cruisers wander o'er the deeps: