His eye--a passenger was he, The cabin he had hired it,-- His eye was gray, and when he look'd Around, the prospect fired it,-- A fine poetic light, as if The Appe-Nine inspir'd it.

VI.

His frame was stout, in height about Six feet--well made and portly; Of dress and manner just to give A sketch, but very shortly, His order seem'd a composite Of rustic with the courtly.

VII.

He ate and quaff'd, and joked and laughed, And chatted with the seamen, And often task'd their skill and ask'd, "What weather is't to be, man?"

No demonstration there appeared, That he was any demon.

VIII.

No sort of sign there was that he Could raise a stormy rumpus, Like Prospero make breezes blow, And rocks and billows thump us,-- But little we supposed what he Could with the needle compass!

IX.

Soon came a storm--the sea at first Seem'd lying almost fallow-- When lo! full crash, with billowy dash, From clouds of black and yellow, Came such a gale as blows but once A cent'ry, like the aloe!

X.

Our stomachs we had just prepared To vest a small amount in; When, gush! a flood of brine came down The skylight--quite a fountain, And right on end the table rear'd Just like the Table Mountain.

XI.

Down rush'd the soup, down gush'd the wine, Each roll, its role repeating, Roll'd down--the round of beef declar'd For parting--not for meating!

Off flew the fowls, and all the game Was "too far gone for eating!"

XII.

Down knife and fork--down went the pork, The lamb too broke its tether; Down mustard went--each condiment-- Salt--pepper--all together!

Down everything, like craft that seek The Downs in stormy weather.

XIII.

Down plunged the Lady of the Lake, Her timbers seem'd to sever; Down, down, a dreary derry down, Such lurch she had gone never; She almost seem'd about to take A bed of down forever!

XIV.

Down dropt the captain's nether jaw, Thus robbed of all its uses, He thought he saw the Evil One Beside Vesuvian sluices, Playing at dice for soul and ship, And throwing Sink and Deuces.

XV.

Down fell the steward on his face, To all the Saints commending; And candles to the Virgin vow'd, As save-alls 'gain'st his ending.

Down fell the mate, he thought his fate, Checkmate, was close impending!

XVI.

Down fell the cook--the cabin boy, Their beads with fervor telling, While Alps of surge, with snowy verge, Above the yards came yelling.

Down fell the crew, and on their knees Shudder'd at each white swelling!

XVII.

Down sunk the sun of bloody hue, His crimson light a cleaver To each red rover of a wave: To eye of fancy-weaver, Neptune, the god, seemed tossing in A raging scarlet fever!

XVIII.

Sore, sore afraid, each Papist pray'd To Saint aid Virgin Mary; But one there was that stood composed Amid the waves' vagary; As staunch as rock, a true game-cock 'Mid chicks of Mother Carey!

XIX.

His ruddy cheek retained its streak, No danger seem'd to shrink him: His step still bold--of mortal mould The crew could hardly think him: The Lady of the Lake, he seem'd To know; could never sink him.

XX.

Relaxed at last the furious gale Quite out of breath with racing; The boiling flood in milder mood, With gentler billows chasing; From stem to stern, with frequent turn, The Stranger took to pacing.

XXI.

And as he walked to self he talked, Some ancient ditty thrumming, In undertone, as not alone-- Now whistling, and now humming-- "You're welcome, Charlie," "Cowdenknowes,"

"Kenmure," or "Campbells' Coming."

XXII.

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!"

XXIII.

"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!"