"
And suddenly from cloudy heavens came down the darkling night
And in his melancholy mood the captive left the height.
He gained his boat, with trembling hand he seized the laboring oar
And turning to the foaming wave he left his native shore.
"Ah, well I wot on ocean's breast when loud the tempest blows
Will rest be found when solid ground denies the heart repose.
Now let the hostile sea perceive no power of hers I dread,
But rather ask her vengeance may fall upon my head."
Into the night the shallop turned, while floated far behind
The captive's lamentation like a streamer on the wind.
And now, like furies, from the east the gale began to blow,
And with the crash of thunder the billows broke below.
STRIKE SAIL!
A Turkish bark was on the sea, the sunny sea of Spain,
In sight of cliffs that Hercules made boundaries of the main;
And one, Celimo's captive slave, as fierce the billows grew,
Was listening as the ship-master this order gave the crew:
"Strike sail! Strike sail! The furious gale
Is rising fast! Strike sail!"
Fierce fell on them the opposing winds, the ship was helpless driven;
And with the ocean's flood were blent the thunder-drops of heaven.
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