Still south by east the little boat, Like greedy swine that feed on mast,- The sullen sky grew black above, The boatman looked against the wind, The wave, per saltum, came and dried, In salt, upon his cheek! The pointed wave against him reared, As if it owned a pique! Nor rushing wind nor gushing wave The boatman could alarm, But still he stood away to sea, And trusted in his charm; He thought by purchase he was safe, Now thick and fast and far aslant And far off, from a copper cloud, It would have quailed another heart, For why? he had that infant's caul; That, like that infant, he should die, The rushing brine flowed in apace; And so he went, still trusting on, For as he left his helm, to heave Three monstrous seas came roaring on, Like lions leagued together. The two first waves the little boat Swam over like a feather,— The two first waves were past and gone, And sinking in her wake; The hugest still came leaping on, And hissing like a snake. Now helm a-lee! for through the midst The monster he must take ! Ah, me! it was a dreary mount! Its base as black as night, Its top of pale and livid green, Its crest of awful white, Like Neptune with a leprosy,— With quaking sails the little boat Then, rushing down the nether slope, Look, how a horse, made mad with fear, So now the headlong headstrong boat, And straight presents her reeling flank Against the swelling tide! The gusty wind assaults the sail; Her ballast lies a-lee! The sheet's to windward taut and stiff, O! the Lively-where is she? Her capsized keel is in the foam, The wild gull, sailing overhead, The ensuing wave, with horrid foam, A SAILOR'S APOLOGY FOR BOW-LEGS. THERE'S some is born with their straight legs by naturAnd some is born with bow-legs from the first And some that should have growed a good deal straighter, And set, you see, like Bacchus, with their pegs I've got myself a sort of bow to larboard, And this is what it was that warped my legs.— When I gets under weigh, Down there in Hartfordshire, to join my ship, Get under sail, The only one there was to make the trip. But as she run Two knots to one, There warn't no use in keeping on the race! I spies an ensign with a Bloody Lion, And fetches up before the coach-horse stable : Well there they stand, four kickers in a row. I just makes free to cut a brown 'un's cable. And gets a kind of sort of a land-waiter To splice me, heel to heel, Under the she-mare's keel, And off I goes, and leaves the inn a-starn. And would n't keep her own to go in no line, And was n't she trimendous slack in stays! We had n't run a knot or much beyond — (What will you have on it?)-but off she goes, Up to her bends in a fresh-water pond! There I am! all a-back! So I looks forward for her bridle-gears, To heave her head round on the t'other tack: The leather parts, And goes away right over by the ears! What could a fellow do, Whose legs, like mine, you know, were in the bilboes But trim myself upright for bringing-to, And square his yard-arms, and brace up his elbows, Just while his craft was taking in her water? The chase had gained a mile. Ahead, and still the she-mare stood a-drinking: |