With equal sheets restrained, the bellying sail
Spreads a broad concave to the sweeping gale.
While o'er the foam the ship impetuous flies,
Th' attentive timoneer1 the helm applies.
As in pursuit along the aerial way,
With ardent eye, the falcon marks his prey,
Each motion watches of the doubtful chase,
Obliquely wheeling through the liquid space;
So, governed by the steersman's glowing hands,
The regent helm her motion still commands.

FALCONER.

"WHERE LIES THE LAND?"

WHERE lies the land to which yon ship must go?
Festively she puts forth in trim array,

As vigorous as a lark at break of day.
Is she for tropic suns, or polar snow?-

What boots the inquiry? Neither friend nor foe
She cares for let her travel where she may,
She finds familiar names, a beaten way

Ever before her, and a wind to blow.

Yet still I ask: What haven is her mark?

And, almost as it was when ships were rare, (From time to time like pilgrims, here and there, Crossing the waters) doubt, and something dark, Of the old sea some reverential fear, Are with me at thy farewell, joyous bark.

WORDSWORTH.

THE PHANTOM-SHIP.

IN Mather's Magnalia Christi,
Of the old colonial time,
May be found in prose the legend
That is here set down in rhyme.
A ship sailed from New Haven;
And the keen and frosty airs,
That filled her sails at parting,

Were heavy with good men's prayers.

1 The helmsman. Not to add here a bundle of notes on nautical terms, all of which would be but half-informative without actual experience or extensive diagrams, it is only right to say that in this descriptive passage Falconer proved his mastery in handling a square-rigged vessel.

"O Lord! if it be thy pleasure

(Thus prayed the old divine) "To bury our friends in the ocean, Take them, for they are thine." But Master Lamberton muttered, And under his breath said he"This ship is so crank and walty, I fear our grave she will be!" And the ships that came from England, When the winter months were gone, Brought no tidings of this vessel, Nor of Master Lamberton.

This put the people to praying

That the Lord would let them hear

What, in His greater wisdom,

He had done with friends so dear.

And at last their prayers were answered:
It was in the month of June,
An hour before the sunset

On a windy afternoon;

When, steadily steering landward,

A ship was seen below,—

And they knew it was Lamberton, Master,
Who sailed so long ago.

On she came, with clouds of canvas,
Right against the wind that blew,
Until the eye could distinguish

The faces of the crew.

Then fell her straining topmasts,
Hanging tangled in the shrouds ;
And her sails were loosened and lifted,
And blown away like clouds.

And the masts, with all their rigging,
Fell slowly, one by one;

And the hulk dilated and vanished,
As a sea-mist in the sun!

And the people who saw this marvel

Each said unto his friend,

That this was the mould of their vessel,
And thus her tragic end.

And the pastor of the village
Gave thanks to God in prayer,
That, to quiet their troubled spirits,
He had sent this Ship of Air.

LONGFELLOW.

THE SHIP-BUILDERS.

THE sky is ruddy in the east ;
The earth is grey below;
And, spectral in the river-mist,
The ship's white timbers show.
Then let the sounds of measured stroke
And grating saw begin,

The broad axe to the gnarlèd oak,

The mallet to the pin.

Hark! Roars the bellows, blast on blast;

The sooty smithy jars;

And fire-sparks, rising far and fast,
Are fading with the stars.
All day for us the smith shall stand
Beside that flashing forge;

All day for us his heavy hand
The groaning anvil scourge.

From far-off hills the panting team
For us is toiling near;

For us the craftsmen down the stream

Their island barges steer.

Ring out for us the axeman's stroke

In forests old and still;

For us the century-circled oak
Falls crashing down his hill.

Up, up! In nobler toil than ours
No craftsman bears a part:
We make of Nature's giant powers
The slaves of human art.

Lay rib to rib and beam to beam,
And drive the tree-nails free;
Nor faithless joint nor yawning seam
Shall tempt the yearning sea!

Where'er the keel of our good ship
The sea's rough field shall plough,
Where'er her tossing spars shall drip
With salt-spray caught below,
That ship must heed her master's beck,
Her helm obey his hand,
And seamen tread her reeling deck
As if they trod the land.

Her oaken ribs the vulture-beak
Of northern ice may seal;
The sunken rock and coral-peak
May grate along her keel;
And know we well the painted shell,
We give to wind and wave,
Must float, the sailors' citadel-
Or sink, the sailors' grave.

Ho, strike away the bars and blocks,
And set the good ship free!
Why lingers on these dusty stocks
The young bride of the sea?

Look! How she moves a-down the grooves

In graceful beauty now!

How lowly, on the breast she loves,

Sinks down her virgin prow!

God bless her! Wheresoe'er the breeze

Her snowy wing shall fan,

Aside the frozen Hebrides,

Or sultry Hindostan ;

Where'er in mart or on the main,
With peaceful flag unfurled,
She helps to wind the silken chain
Of commerce round the world.

Speed on the ship!-But let her bear
No merchandise of sin,

No groaning cargo of despair
Her roomy hold within;

No Lethean drug for eastern lands,
Nor poison-draught for ours;
But honest fruits of toiling hands
And Nature's sun and showers.

Be hers the prairie's golden grain,
The desert's golden sand,

The clustered fruits of sunny Spain,
The spice of morning-land.
Her pathway on the open main
May blessings follow free,

And glad hearts welcome back again

Her white sails from the sea!

WHITTIER.

SONG FOR ALL SEAS, ALL SHIPS.

TO-DAY a rude, brief recitative

Of ships sailing the seas, each with its special flag or ship-signal;

Of unnamed heroes in the ships; of waves spreading and spreading, as far as the eye can reach ;

Of dashing spray, and the winds piping and blowing; And out of these a chant for the sailors of all nations, Fitful, like a surge:

Of sea-captains young or old, and the mates, and of all intrepid sailors;

Of the few, very choice, taciturn, whom fate can never surprise nor death dismay,

Pick'd sparingly without noise by thee, old ocean, chosen by thee—

Thou sea that pickest and cullest the race in time, and unitest nations,

Suckled by thee, old husky nurse, embodying thee: (Ever the heroes on water or on land, by ones or twos appearing,

Ever the stock preserv'd, and never lost, though rare, enough for seed preserv'd.)

Flaunt out, O sea, your separate flags of nations! Flaunt out visible, as ever the various ship's signals! But do you reserve especially for yourself and for the soul of man one flag above the rest,

A spiritual woven signal for all nations, emblem of man elate above death-

Token of all brave captains and all intrepid sailors and mates,

And all that went down doing their duty,