Soon to the sport of death the Crew repair,
Dart the long lance, or spread the baited snare.
One in redoubling mazes wheels along,
And glides unhappy near the triple prong:
RODMOND, unerring, o'er his head suspends
The barbed steel, and every turn attends;
Unerring aimed, the missile weapon flew,
And, plunging, struck the fatal victim through;
Th' upturning points his ponderous bulk sustain,
On Deck he struggles with convulsive pain:
But while his heart the fatal javelin thrills,
And flitting life escapes in sanguine rills,
What radiant changes strike th' astonished sight!
What glowing hues of mingled shade and light!
Not equal beauties gild the lucid West
With parting beams all o'er profusely drest,
Not lovelier colours paint the vernal Dawn,
When orient dews impearl th' enamelled lawn;
Than from his sides in bright suffusion flow,
That now with gold empyreal seem to glow;
Now. in pellucid sapphires meet the view,
And emulate the soft celestial hue;
Now beam a flaming crimson on the eye,
And now assume the purple's deeper dye:
But here description clouds each shining ray;
What terms of Art can Nature's powers display!
The lighter Sails, for Summer winds and seas,
Are now dismissed, the straining masts to ease;
Swift on the deck the Stud-sails all descend,
Which ready Seamen from the Yards unbend;
The Boats then hoisted in are fixed on board,
And on the Deck with fastening Gripes secured.
The watchful ruler of the helm no more
With fixed attention eyes th' adjacent shore,
But by the oracle of truth below,
The wonderous Magnet, guides the wayward prow.
The powerful Sails, with steady breezes swelled,
Swift and more swift the yielding bark impelled:
Across her stem the parting Waters run,
As Clouds, by Tempests wafted, pass the Sun.
Impatient thus she darts along the shore,
Till Ida's mount, and Jove's are seen no more;
And while aloof from RETIMO she steers,
MALECA foreland full in front appears.
Wide o'er yon Isthmus stands the Cypress Grove, That once inclosed the hallowed fane of Jove; Here too, memorial of his name! is found
A Tomb in marble ruins on the ground:
This gloomy tyrant, whose despotic sway
Compelled the trembling Nations to obey,
Through GREECE for murder, rape, and incest known,
The Muses raised to high Olympus' throne;
For oft, alas! their venal Strains adorn
The Prince, whom blushing Virtue holds in scorn:
Still ROME and GREECE record his endless fame,
And hence yon mountain yet retains his name.
But see! in confluence borne before the Blast,
Clouds rolled on clouds the dusky Noon o'ercast:
The blackening Ocean curls, the Winds arise,
And the dark Scud in swift succession flies.
While the swoln canvass bends the Masts on high,
Low in the wave the leeward cannon lie.
The Master calls, to give the Ship relief,
The Topsails lower, and form a single reef!
Each lofty Yard with slackened cordage reels;
Rattle the creaking blocks and ringing wheels.
Down the tall Masts the topsails sink amain,
Are manned and reefed, then hoisted up again.
More distant grew receding CANDIA'S shore,
And southward of the west CAPE SPADO bore.
Four hours the Sun his high meridian throne
Had left, and o'er Atlantic regions shone;
Still blacker clouds, that all the skies invade,
Draw o'er his sullied orb a dismal shade:
A lowering Squall obscures the southern sky,
Before whose sweeping breath the waters fly;
Its weight the Top-sails can no more sustain-
Reef Top-Sails, reef! the Master calls again.
The halyards and top-bow-lines soon are gone,
To clue-lines and reef-tackles next they run :
The shivering Sails descend; the Yards are square;
Then quick aloft the ready Crew repair:
The weather-earings and the lee they past,
The reefs enrolled, and every point made fast.
Their Task above thus finished, they descend,
And vigilant th' approaching Squall attend:
It comes resistless! and with foaming sweep
Upturns the whitening surface of the Deep:
In such a Tempest, borne to deeds of death,
The Wayward Sisters scour the blasted heath.
The Clouds, with ruin pregnant, now impend,
And Storm, and Cataracts tumultuous blend.
Deep, on her side, the reeling Vessel lies:
Brail up the Mizen quick! the Master cries,
Man the clue-garnets! let the Main-Sheet fly!
It rends in thousand shivering shreds on high!
The Main-Sail all in streaming ruins tore,
Loud fluttering, imitates the thunder's roar:
The Ship still labours in th' oppressive strain,
Low bending, as if ne'er to rise again.
the Helm a-weather! RODMOND cries:
Swift at the word the helm a-weather flies;
She feels its guiding power, and veers apace,
And now the Fore-Sail right athwart they brace:
With equal sheets restrained, the bellying Sail
Spreads a broad concave to the sweeping Gale.
While o'er the foam the Ship impetuous flies,
The Helm th' attentive Timoneer applies:
As in pursuit along th' aërial way
With ardent eye the Falcon marks his prey.
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