Bowlines and halyards are cast off again, Clue-lines hauled down, and sheets let fly amain: Embrailed each top-sail, and by braces squar’d, The seamen climb aloft, and man each yard; They furled the sails, and pointed to the wind The yards, by rolling tackles then confin’d, While o’er the ship the gallant boatswain flies; Like a hoarse mastiff through the storm he cries, Prompt to direct th’ unskilful still appears, Th’ expert he praises, and the timid cheers. Now some, to strike top-gallant yards attend, } Some, trav’llers up the weather-back stays send, } At each mast-head the top-ropes others bend: } The parrels, lifts, and clue-lines soon are gone, Topped and unrigged, they down the back-stays run; The yards secure along the booms were laid, And all the flying ropes aloft belay’d: Their sails reduced, and all the rigging clear, Awhile the crew relax from toils severe; Awhile their spirits, with fatigue opprest, In vain expect th’ alternate hour of rest— But with redoubling force the tempests blow, And watery hills in dread succession flow; A dismal shade o’ercast the frowning skies, New troubles grow; fresh difficulties rise; No season this from duty to descend, ‘All hands on deck’ must now the storm attend. His race performed, the sacred lamp of day Now dipt in western clouds his parting ray: His languid fires, half lost in ambient haze, Refract along the dusk a crimson blaze; Till deep immerged the sickening orb descends, And cheerless night o’er heaven her reign extends; Sad evening’s hour, how different from the past! No flaming pomp, no blushing glories cast, No ray of friendly light is seen around; The moon and stars in hopeless shade are drown’d. The ship no longer can whole courses bear, To reef them now becomes the master’s care; The sailors, summoned aft, all ready stand, And man th’ enfolding brails at his command: But here the doubtful officers dispute, Till skill, and judgment prejudice confute: For Rodmond, to new methods still a foe, Would first, at all events, the sheet let go; To long-tried practice obstinately warm, He doubts conviction, and relies on form. This Albert and Arion disapprove, And first to brail the tack up firmly move: ‘The watchful seaman, whose sagacious eye On sure experience may with truth rely, Who from the reigning cause foretels th’ effect, This barbarous practice ever will reject: For, fluttering loose in air, the rigid sail Soon flits to ruins in the furious gale; And he, who strives the tempest to disarm, Will never first embrail the lee yard-arm.’ So Albert spoke; to windward, at his call, Some seamen the clue-garnet stand to haul— The tack’s eased off, while the involving clue Between the pendent blocks ascending flew;