While fore and aft, all staunch and tight,
She spreads her canvas wide,
The captain walks his realm, the deck,
With more than monarch's pride;—
For well he knows the sea-bird's wings,
So swift and sure to-day,
Will waft him many a league to-night
In triumph on his way.
Then welcome to the rushing blast
That stirs the waters now,—
Ye white-plumed heralds of the deep,
Make music round her prow!
Good sea-room in the roaring gale,
Let stormy trumpets blow;
But chain ten thousand fathoms down
The sluggish calm below!