The fainting pulses tremble at; and sounds
Of sobs suppress'd, and mutter'd words, were heard,
When the winds sank in low and solemn wail—
A breathing space of terror, but to rouse
More fearfully. That tempest had swept o'er
The awaken'd deep so suddenly, it seem'd
As some unholy spell had call'd it forth—
Summon'd, unthought of, from its secret home.
Lost in the fair blue sky, where scarce a cloud
Was seen, save those that threw their rosy wreaths
Upon the west, to hail the approaching sun,
Like flowers strewn upon the conqueror's way.
The ocean hush'd in beautiful repose,
Seem'd fitting mirror for the pale young moon,
And the soft light of the sweet evening star.
Sailing in majesty and loveliness,
The vessel cut the waters, which did seem
To pay her homage, as unto their queen;
And far in the horizon was a speck,
