While alps of surge, with snowy verge, Above the yards came yelling. Down fell the crew, and on their knees Shuddered at each white swelling! Down sunk the sun of bloody hue, Neptune, the God, seemed tossing in Sore, sore afraid, each papist prayed But one there was that stood composed As stanch as rock, a true game cock 'Mid chicks of Mother Carey! His ruddy cheek retained its streak, Relaxed at last the furious gale From stem to stern, with frequent turn, And as he walked to self he talked, In under tone, as not alone Now whistling, and now humming"You're welcome, Charlie," "Cowdenknowes," "Kenmure," or "Campbells' Coming." Down went the wind, down went the wave, Fear quitted the most finical; The Saints, I wot, were soon forgot, And Hope was at the pinnacle: When rose on high, a frightful cry "The Devil's in the binnacle ! " "The Saints be near," the helmsman cried, His voice with quite a falter "Steady 's my helm, but every look The needle seems to alter; God only knows where China lies, Jamaica, or Gibraltar! " The captain stared aghast at mate, No fancy of the German Sea Of Fiction the event is: But when they at the compass looked, It seemed non compass mentis. Now north, now south, now east, now west, The wavering point was shaken, "T was past the whole philosophy Never by compass, till that hour, With fearful speech, each after each Took turns in the inspection; They found no gun To vary its direction; -no iron none It seemed a new magnetic case Farewell to wives, farewell their lives, And all their household riches; Oh! while they thought of girl or boy, All down the side which holds the heart, That needle gave them stitches. With deep amaze, the Stranger gazed No fancy-motion, brain-begot, In eye of timid dreamer The nervous finger of a sot Ne'er showed a plainer tremor; Το every brain it seemed too plain, Mixed brown and blue each visage grew, Just like a pullet's gizzard; Meanwhile the captain's wandering wit, From tacking like an izzard, Bore down in this plain course at last, "It's Michael Scott - the Wizard!" A smile past o'er the ruddy face, "To see the poles so falter, I'm puzzled, friends, as much as you, For with no fiends I palter; Michael I'm not although a Scott My Christian name is Walter." Like oil it fell, that name, a spell The Captain's head (for he had read) And bowed to HIM in whom the North Has lodged its main attraction! |