XVII.

He that has sailed upon the dark blue sea Has viewed at times, I ween, a full fair sight, When the fresh breeze is fair as breeze may be, The white sail set, the gallant Frigate tight-- Masts, spires, and strand retiring to the right, The glorious Main expanding o'er the bow, The Convoy spread like wild swans in their flight, The dullest sailer wearing bravely now-- So gaily curl the waves before each dashing prow.