Our hull unbroken long may try a-lee; The crew, though harassed much with toils severe, Still at their pumps, perceive no hazards near: Shall we, incautious, then the danger tell, At once their courage and their hope to quell? Prudence forbids! this southern tempest soon May change its quarter with the changing moon; Its rage, though terrible, may soon subside, Nor into mountains lash th’ unruly tide: These leaks shall then decrease—the sails once more Direct our course to some relieving shore.” Thus while he spoke, around from man to man At either pump a hollow murmur ran: For, while the vessel through unnumbered chinks, Above, below, th’ invading water drinks, Sounding her depth they eyed the wetted scale, And lo! the leaks o’er all their powers prevail: Yet at their post, by terrors unsubdued, They with redoubling force their task pursued. And now the senior pilots seemed to wait Arion’s voice, to close the dark debate: Not o’er his vernal life the ripening sun Had yet, progressive, twice ten summers run; Slow to debate, yet eager to excel, In thy sad school, stern Neptune! taught too well: With lasting pain to rend his youthful heart Dire Fate in venom dipt her keenest dart; Till his firm spirit, tempered long to ill, Forgot her persecuting scourge to feel: But now the horrors, that around him roll, Thus roused to action his rekindling soul: “Can we, delayed in this tremendous tide, A moment pause what purpose to decide? Alas! from circling horrors thus combined, One method of relief alone we find: Thus water-logged, thus helpless to remain Amid this hollow, how ill-judged! how vain! Our sea-breach’d vessel can no longer bear The floods, that o’er her burst in dread career; The labouring hull already seems half-filled With water through an hundred leaks distilled; Thus drenched by every wave, her riven deck, Stript, and defenceless, floats a naked wreck; At every pitch th’ o’erwhelming billows bend Beneath their load the quivering bowsprit’s end; A fearful warning! since the masts on high On that support with trembling hope rely; At either pump our seamen pant for breath, In dire dismay, anticipating death; Still all our powers th’ increasing leaks defy, We sink at sea, no shore, no haven nigh: One dawn of hope yet breaks athwart the gloom To light and save us from a watery tomb; That bids us shun the death impending here, Fly from the following blast, and shoreward steer. “’Tis urged indeed, the fury of the gale Precludes the help of every guiding sail; And, driven before it on the watery waste, To rocky shores and scenes of death we haste; But haply Falconera we may shun, And long to Grecian coasts is yet the run: Less harassed then, our scudding ship may bear