Chapter III

"Deep murmurs from out of the frowning skies;
A rising and swelling of seas;
The sailor quick-furleth the outspread sail,
For a hurricane toppeth the breeze.
No shapelier craft from a British port
Ever ventured the heaving tide;
Her firm knit hull, and her rigging taut
Were the mariner's honest pride.

"But what recketh Ocean for pride of man!
The storm-wraith wails loudly on high;
Till battered and torn is the gallant bark
In her wrestle 'gainst ocean and sky.
Yet she conquers, she rideth the seething foam;
And, as bird from prison bars free,
She spreadeth her sail 'yond the storm-cloud's rim
And skimmeth a tranquil sea."