While round before th’ 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! meet her! watch the curving prow, And from the gale directly let her go.” “Starboard again!” the watchful pilot cries, “Starboard!” th’ obedient timoneer replies: Then back to port, revolving at command, The wheel 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 harpooners assail In Hyperborean seas the slumb’ring whale, Soon as their javelins pierce his scaly side, He groans, he darts impetuous down the tide; And racked 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, dashed 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: Upheaved behind her in tremendous height The billows frown, with fearful radiance bright: Now quivering o’er the topmost wave she rides, While deep beneath th’ enormous gulf divides; Now launching headlong down the horrid vale, Becalmed, 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, 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 th’ infernal air he cleaved; There, in some hideous gulf descending prone, Far in the void abrupt of night was known— E’en so she climbs the briny mountain’s height, Then down the black abyss precipitates her flight: The masts, about whose tops the whirlwinds sing, 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: Where’er he moves Palemon still attends, As if on him his only hope depends; While Rodmond, fearful of some neighbouring shore, Cries, ever and anon, ‘Look out afore!’ Thus o’er the flood four hours she scudding flew, When Falconera’s rugged cliffs they view, Faintly along the larboard bow descried, As o’er its mountain tops the lightnings glide; High o’er its summit, through the gloom of night, The glimmering watch tower cast a mournful light: