Again she rallies to the sullen blast: The helm to starboard moves; each shivering sail Is sharply trimmed to clasp th’ augmenting gale— The mizen draws; she springs aloof once more, While the forestay-sail balances before. The fore-sail braced obliquely to the wind, They near the prow th’ extended tack confin’d; Then on the leeward sheet the seamen bend, And haul the bow-line to the bowsprit-end: To top-sails next they haste: the bunt-lines gone! Through rattling blocks the clue-lines swiftly run; Th’ extending sheets on either side are mann’d, Abroad they come! the fluttering sails expand; The yards again ascend each comrade mast, The leeches taught, the halyards are made fast, The bow-lines hauled, and yards to starboard braced, And straggling ropes in pendant order placed. The main-sail, by the squall so lately rent, In streaming pendants flying, is unbent: With brails refixed, another soon prepared, Ascending, spreads along beneath the yard. To each yard-arm the head-rope they extend, And soon their earings and their robans bend. That task performed, they first the braces slack, Then to the chesstree drag th’ unwilling tack, And, while the lee clue-garnet’s lowered away, Taught aft the sheet they tally, and belay. Now to the north, from Afric’s burning shore, A troop of porpoises their course explore; In curling wreaths they gambol on the tide, Now bound aloft, now down the billow glide: Their tracks awhile the hoary waves retain, That burn in sparkling trails along the main— These fleetest coursers of the finny race, When threatening clouds th’ ethereal vault deface, Their route to leeward still sagacious form, To shun the fury of th’ approaching storm. III. Fair Candia now no more beneath her lee Protects the vessel from th’ insulting sea; Round her broad arms impatient of control, Roused from the secret deep, to billows roll: Sunk were the bulwarks of the friendly shore, And all the scene an hostile aspect wore. The flattering wind, that late with promised aid From Candia’s bay th’ unwilling ship betray’d, No longer fawns beneath the fair disguise, But like a ruffian on his quarry flies; Tost on the tide she feels the tempest blow, And dreads the vengeance of so fell a foe— As the proud horse with costly trappings gay, Exulting, prances to the bloody fray; Spurning the ground he glories in his might, But reels tumultuous in the shock of fight: E’en so, caparisoned in gaudy pride, The bounding vessel dances on the tide. Fierce and more fierce the gathering tempest grew, South, and by west, the threatening demon blew; Auster’s resistless force all air invades, And every rolling wave more ample spreads: The ship no longer can her top-sails bear; No hopes of milder weather now appear.