The Muse that tuned to barbarous sounds her The ramparts crack, the solid bulwarks rend,

Yet now, the hour, the scene, th' occasion known,
Perhaps with equal right preferr'd his own
Of long experience in the naval art,

Blunt was his speech, and naked was his heart:
Alike to him each climate and each blast;
The first in danger, in retreat the last :
Sagacious balancing th' opposed events,
From Albert his opinion thus dissents.

Too true the perils of the present hour, Where toils succeeding toils our strength o'erpower!

Yet whither can we turn, what road pursue,
With death before still opening on the view?
Our bark, 'tis true, no shelter here can find,
Sore shatter'd by the ruffian seas and wind;
Yet with what hope of refuge can we flee,
Chased by this tempest and outrageous sea?
For while its violence the tempest keeps,
Bereft of every sail we roam the deeps;
At random driven, to present death we haste,
And one short hour perhaps may be our last.
In vain the Gulf of Corinth on our lee
Now opens to her ports a passage free;
Since, if before the blast the vessel flies,
Full in her track unnumber'd dangers rise.
Here Falconera spreads her lurking snares;
There distant Greece her rugged shelves prepares;
Should once her bottom strike that rocky shore,
The splitting bark that instant were no more;
Nor she alone, but with her all the crew,
Beyond relief, were doom'd to perish too.
Thus if to scud too rashly we consent,
Too late in fatal hour we may repent.

"Then of our purpose this appears the scope,
To weigh the danger with a doubtful hope,
Though sorely buffeted by every sea,
Our hull unbroken long may try a-lee;
The crew, though harass'd long with toils severe,
Still at their pumps perceive no hazards near.
Shall we, incautious then, the dangers tell,
At once their courage and their hopes 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.

"With fix'd attention, pondering in my mind The dark distresses on each side combined; While here we linger in the pass of Fate,

I see no moment left for sad debate.
For, some decision if we wish to form,
Ere yet our vessel sink beneath the storm,
Her shattered state, and yon desponding crew,
At once suggest what measures to pursue.
The labouring hull already seems half-fill'd
With waters, through a hundred leaks distill'd,
As in a dropsy, wallowing with her freight,
Half-drown'd she lies, a dead inactive weight!
Thus drenched by every wave, her riven deck,
Stript and defenceless, floats a naked wreck;
Her wounded flanks no longer can sustain
These fell invasions of the bursting main:
At every pitch th' o'erwhelming billows bend,
Beneath their load, the quivering bowsprit 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 dark 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 the 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 far to Grecian coasts is yet the run:
Less harass'd then, our scudding ship may bear
Th' assaulting surge repell'd upon her rear.
E'en then the wearied storm as soon shall die,
Or less torment the groaning pines on high.
Should we at last be driven by dire decree
Too near the fatal margin of the sea,
The hull dismasted there awhile may ride,
With lengthen'd cables on the raging tide.
Perhaps kind Heaven, with interposing power,
May curb the tempest ere that dreadful hour.
But here ingulf'd and foundering while we stay,

These leaks shall then decrease: the sails once Fate hovers o'er, and marks us for her prey."

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 unnumber'd chinks,
Above, below, th' invading water drinks,
Sounding her depth, they eyed the wetted scale,
And, lo! the leak o'er all their powers prevail,
Yet in their post, by terrors unsubdued,
They with redoubled force their task pursued.
And now the senior pilots seem'd to wait
Arion's voice to close the dark debate.
Though many a bitter storm, with peril fraught,
In Neptune's school the wandering stripling
taught,

He said; Palemon saw, with grief of heart:
The storm prevailing o'er the pilot's art;
In silent terror and distress involved,
He heard their last alternative resolved.
High beat his bosom: with such fear subdued,
Beneath the gloom of some enchanted wood,
Oft in old time the wandering swain explored
The midnight wizards breathing rites abhorr'd:
Trembling approach'd their incantations fell,
And, chill'd with horror, heard the songs of hell.
Arion saw, with secret anguish moved,
The deep affliction of the friend he loved;
And, all awake to Friendship's genial heat,
His bosom felt consenting tumults beat.
Alas! no season this for tender love;

Not twice nine summers yet matured his thought. Far hence the music of the myrtle grove.

So oft he bled by Fortune's cruel dart,

It fell at last innoxious on his heart.

His mind still shunning care with secret hate,
In patient indolence resign'd to Fate.
But now the horrors that around him roll,

Thus rous'd to action his rekindling soul.

With Comfort's soothing voice, from Hope derived,
Palemon's drooping spirit he revived,

For Consolation oft, with healing art,
Retunes the jarring numbers of the heart.-
Now had the pilots all th' events revolved,

And on their final refuge thus resolved;

When, like the faithful shepherd, who beholds
Some prowling wolf approach his fleecy folds;
To the brave crew, whom racking doubts perplex,
The dreadful purpose Albert thus directs.

"Unhappy partners in a wayward fate!
Whose gallant spirits now are known too late;
Ye! who unmoved behold this angry storm
With terrors all the rolling deep deform;
Who, patient in adversity, still bear
The firmest front when greatest ills are near!
The truth, though grievous, I must now reveal,
That long, in vain, I purposed to conceal.
Ingulf'd, all help of arts we vainly try,
To weather leeward shores, alas! too nigh.
Our crazy bark no longer can abide

The seas that thunder o'er her batter'd side;
And, while the leaks a fatal warning give,
That in this raging sea she cannot live,
One only refuge from despair we find ;

At once to wear and scud before the wind.*
Perhaps e'en then to ruin we may steer;
For broken shores beneath our lee appear;
But that's remote, and instant death is here;
Yet there, by Heaven's assistance, we may gain
Some creek or inlet of the Grecian main;
Or sheltered by some rock, at anchor ride,
Till with abating rage the blast subside.

"But, if determined by the will of Heaven,
Our helpless bark at last ashore is driven,
These counsels follow'd, from the watery grave
Our floating sailors on the surf may save.

"And first, let all our axes be secured,
To cut the masts and rigging from aboard.
Then to the quarters bind each plank and oar,
To float between the vessel and the shore.
The longest cordage, too, must be convey'd
On deck, and to the weather rails belay'd;
So they, who haply reach alive the land,
Th' extended lines may fasten on the strand,
Whene'er, loud thundering on the leeward shore,
While yet aloof we hear the breakers roar.
Thus for the terrible event prepared,
Brace fore and aft to starboard every yard;
So shall our masts swim lighter on the wave,
And from the broken rocks our seamen save.
Then westward turn the stem, that every mast
May shoreward fall, when from the vessel cast.—
When o'er her side once more the billows bound,
Ascend the rigging till she strikes the ground:
And when you hear aloft th' alarming shock
That strikes her bottom on some pointed rock,
The boldest of our sailors must descend,
The dangerous business of the deck to tend;
Then each, secured by some convenient cord,
Should cut the shrouds and rigging from the board;
Let the broad axes next assail each mast;
And booms, and oars, and rafts, to leeward cast.
Thus, while the cordage stretch'd ashore may guide
Our brave companions through the swelling tide,
This floating lumber shall sustain them, o'er
The rocky shelves, in safety to the shore.
But as your firmest succour, till the last,
O cling securely on each faithful mast!
Though great the danger, and the task severe,
Yet bow not to the tyranny of fear!

If once that slavish yoke your spirits quell,
Adieu to hope! to life itself farewell!

"I know, among you some full oft have view'd,
With murdering weapons arm'd, a lawless brood,
On England's vile inhuman shore who stand,
The foul reproach and scandal of our land!
To rob the wanderers wreck'd upon the strand.
These, while their savage office they pursue,
Oft wound to death the helpless plunder'd crew,
Who 'scaped from every horror of the main,
Implored their mercy, but implored in vain.
But dread not this!-a crime to Greece unknown
Such blood-hounds all her circling shores disown:
Her sons, by barbarous tyranny opprest,
Can share affliction with the wretch distrest:
Their hearts, by cruel fate inured to grief,
Oft to the friendless stranger yield relief."

With conscious horror struck, the naval band
Detested for a while their native land;
They cursed the sleeping vengeance of the laws,
That thus forgot her guardian sailors' cause.
Meanwhile the master's voice again they heard,
Whom, as with filial duty, all revered.

"No more remains-but now a trusty band
Must ever at the pump industrious stand:
And while with us the rest attend to wear,
Two skilful seamen to the helm repair!—
O Source of Life! our refuge and our stay!
Whose voice the warring elements obey,
On thy supreme assistance we rely ;

Thy mercy supplicate, if doom'd to die!
Perhaps this storm is sent, with healing breath,
From neighbouring shores to scourge disease and
death!

"Tis ours on thine unerring laws to trust:
With thee, great Lord! Whatever is, is just.'"

He said; and with consenting reverence fraught,
The sailors join'd his prayer in silent thought.
His intellectual eyes, serenely bright!
Saw distant objects with prophetic light.
Thus in a land, that lasting wars oppress,
That groans beneath misfortune and distress;
Whose wealth to conquering armies falls a prey,
Her bulwarks sinking, as her troops decay;
Some bold sagacious statesman, from the helm,
Sees desolation gathering o'er his realm:
He darts around his penetrating eyes,
Where dangers grow, and hostile unions rise;
With deep attention marks th' invading foe,
Eludes their wiles, and frustrates every blow:
Tries his last art the tottering state to save,
Or in its ruins finds a glorious grave.

Still in the yawning trough the vessel reels,
Ingulf'd beneath two fluctuating hills:
On either side they rise; tremendous scene!
A long dark melancholy vale between.*

That the reader, who is unacquainted with the manœuvres of navigation, may conceive a clearer idea of a ship's state when trying, and of the change of her situ ation to that of scudding, I have quoted a part of the explanation of those articles as they appear in the "Dic. tionary of the Marine."

Trying is the situation in which a ship lies nearly in the trough or hollow of the sea in a tempest, particularly when it blows contrary to her course.

In trying as well as in scudding, the sails are always

For an explanation of these manœuvres, the reader reduced in proportion to the increase of the storm; and is referred to the last note of this Canto.

in either state, if the storm is excessive, she may have C

The balanced ship, now forward, now behind,
Still felt th' impression of the waves and wind,
And to the right and left by turns inclined;
But Albert from behind the balance drew,
And on the prow its double efforts threw.-
The order now was given to bear away;
The order given the timoneers obey.
High o'er the bowsprit stretch'd the tortured sail,
As on the rack, distends beneath the gale.
But scarce the yielding prow its impulse knew,
When in a thousand flitting shreds it flew!-
Yet Albert new resources still prepares,

And, bridling grief, redoubles all his cares.

Brandish'd on high, it fell with dreadful sound;
The tall mast, groaning, felt the deadly wound.
Deep gash'd with sores, the tottering structure
rings!

And crashing, thundering o'er the quarter swings
Thus when some limb, convulsed with pangs of

death,

Imbibes the gangrene's pestilential breath!
Th' experienced artist from the blood betrays
The latent venom, or its course delays:
But if th' infection triumphs o'er his art,
Tainting the vital stream that warms the heart,
Resolved at last, he quits th' unequal strife,
Severs the member, and preserves the life.

CANTO III.

ARGUMENT.

The design and influence of poetry. Applied to the subject. Wreck of the mizen-mast cleared away.

Ship veers before the wind. Her violent agitation. Different stations of the officers. Appearance of the island of Falconera. Excursion to the adjacent na. tions of Greece renowned in antiquity. Athens. Socrates. Plato. Aristides. Solon. Corinth. Sparta. Leonidas. Invasion of Xerxes. Lycurgus. Epami nondas. Modern appearance. Arcadia; its former

all her sails furled: or be, according to the sea-phrase, as to receive the greatest exertion of the wind. See line under bare poles.

The intent of spreading a sail at this time, is to keep the ship more steady, and to prevent her from rolling violently by pressing her side down in the water; and also to turn her head towards the source of the wind, so that the shock of the seas may fall more obliquely on her flank, than when she lies along the trough of the sea, or in the interval between two waves. While she lies in this situation, the helm is fastened close to the lee side, to prevent her, as much as possible, from falling to leeward. But as the ship is not then kept in equilibrio by the operation of her sails, which at other times counterbalance each other at the head and stern, she is moved by a slow but continual vibration, which turns her head alternately to windward and to leeward, forming an angle of 30 or 40 degrees in the interval. That part where she stops in approaching the direction of the wind is called her coming-to: and the contrary excess of the angle to leeward is called her falling-off.

Veering, or wearing, (see line 55, 2d col. p. 23, and line 20, 1st col. p. 25 ;) as used in the present sense, may be defined, the movement by which a ship changes her state from trying to that of scudding, or of running before the direction of the wind and sea.

It is an axiom in natural philosophy, that "every body will persevere in a state of rest, or of moving uniformnly in a right line, unless it be compelled to change its state by forces impressed: and that the change of motion is proportional to the moving force impressed, and made according to the right line in which that force acts."

9 of preceding column. The fore part accordingly yields to this impulse, and is put in motion; and this notion necessarily conspiring with that of the wind, pushes the ship about as much as is requisite to produce the desired effect.

But when the tempest is so violent as to preclude the use of sails, the effort of the wind operates almost equally on the opposite end of the ship, because the masts and yards situated near the head and stern serve to counterbalance each other in receiving its impression. The effect of the helm is also considerably diminished, because the head-way, which gives life and vigour to all its operations, is at this time feeble and ineffectual. Hence it becomes necessary to destroy this equilibrium which subsists between the masts and yards before and behind, and to throw the balance forward to prepare for veering. If this cannot be effected by the arrangement of the yards on the masts, and it becomes absolutely necessary to veer, in order to save the ship from destruction, (see line 20 of preceding column,) the mizenmast must be cut away, and even the main-mast, if she still remains incapable of answering the helm by turning her prow to leeward.

Scudding is that movement in navigation by which a ship is carried precipitately before a tempest. See line 20, 1st col. p. 25.

As a ship flies with amazing rapidity through the water whenever this expedient is put in practice, it is never attempted in a contrary wind, unless when her condition renders her incapable of sustaining the mutual effort of the wind and waves any longer on her side, without being exposed to the most imminent danger.

A ship either scuds with a sail extended on her foremast, or, if the storm is excessive, without any sail, which in the sea phrase is called scudding under bare poles.

The principal hazards incident to scudding are generally a sea striking a ship's stern; the difficulty of steering, which perpetually exposes her to the danger of broach

Hence it is easy to conceive how a ship is compelled to turn into any direction by the force of the wind, acting upon any part of her length in lines parallel to the plane of the horizon. Thus, in the act of veering, which is a necessary consequence of this invariable principle, the object of the seamen is to reduce the action of the wind on the ship's hinder part, and to receive its utmost exertion on her fore part, so that the latter may be pushed to leeward. This effect is either pro-ing-to; and the want of sufficient sea-room. A sea which duced by the operation of the sails, or by the impression of the wind on the masts and yards. In the former case, the sails on the hind part of the ship are either furled or arranged nearly parallel to the direction of the wind, which then glides ineffectually along their surfaces; at the same time the foremast sails are spread abroad, so

strikes the stern violently may shatter it to pieces, by which the ship must inevitably founder. By broachingto suddenly, she is threatened with losing all her masts and sails, or being immediately overturned; and for want of sea-room she is exposed to the dangers of being wrecked on a lee-shore.