"Twas a rough night, and blew so stiffly yet,

That the sail was becalm'd between the seas,
Though on the wave's high top too much to set,
They dared not take it in for all the breeze:
Each sea curl'd o'er the stern, and kept them wet,
And made them bale without a moment's ease,
So that themselves as well as hopes were damp'd,
And the poor little cutter quickly swamp'd.

Nine souls more went in her: the long-boat still
Kept above water, with an oar for mast,
Two blankets stitch'd together, answering ill
Instead of sail, were to the oar made fast;
Though every wave roll'd menacing to fill,
And present peril all before surpass'd,

They grieved for those who perish'd with the cuttər,
And also for the biscuit-casks and butter.

The sun rose red and fiery, a sure sign

Of the continuance of the gale: to run
Before the sea until it should grow fine,
Was all that for the present could be done :
A few tea-spoonfuls of their rum and wine

Were served out to the people, who begun

To faint, and damaged bread wet through the bags,
And most of them had little clothes but rags.

They counted thirty, crowded in a space

Which left scarce room for motion or exertion;

They did their best to modify their case,

One half sate up, though numb'd with the immersion,

While t'other half were laid down in their place,

At watch and watch; thus, shivering like the tertian Ague in its cold fit, they fill'd their boat,

With nothing but the sky for a great coat.

"Tis very certain the desire of life

Prolongs it: this is obvious to physicians,

When patients, neither plagued with friends nor wife,
Survive through very desperate conditions,
Because they still can hope, nor shines the knife
Nor shears of Atropos before their visions:
Despair of all recovery spoils longevity,
And makes men's miseries of alarming brevity.
"Tis thus with people in an open boat,

They live upon the love of life, and bear
More than can be believed, or even thought,

And stand like rocks the tempest's wear and tear;

And hardship still has been the sailor's lot,

Since Noah's ark went cruising here and there;
She had a curious crew as well as cargo,
Like the first old Greek privateer, the Argo.

But man is a carnivorous production,

And must have meals, at least one meal a day; He cannot live, like woodcocks, upon suction, But, like the shark and tiger, must have prey;

Although his anatomical construction
Bears vegetables, in a grumbling way,
Your labouring people think beyond all question,
Beef, veal, and mutton better for digestion.
And thus it was with this our hapless crew;
For on the third day there came on a calm,
And though at first their strength it might renew,
And, lying on their weariness like balm,
Lull'd them like turtles sleeping on the blue
Of ocean, when they woke they felt a qualm,
And fell all ravenously on their provision,
Instead of hoarding it with due precision.
The consequence was easily foreseen-

They ate up all they had, and drank their wine,
In spite of all remonstrances, and then

On what, in fact, next day were they to dine? They hoped the wind would rise, these foolish men! And carry them to shore; these hopes were fine, But as they had but one oar, and that brittle, It would have been more wise to save their victual. The fourth day came, but not a breath of air,

And Ocean slumber'd like an unwean'd child:
The fifth day, and their boat lay floating there;
The sea and sky were blue, and clear, and mild-
With their one oar (I wish they had had a pair)
What could they do? and hunger's rage grew wild:
So Juan's spaniel, spite of his entreating,
Was kill'd, and portion'd out for present eating.
On the sixth day they fed upon his hide,
And Juan, who had still refused, because

The creature was his father's dog that died,
Now feeling all the vulture in his jaws,
With some remorse received (though first denied)
As a great favour one of the fore-paws,
Which he divided with Pedrillo, who
Devour'd it, longing for the other too.

The seventh day and no wind-the burning sun
Blister'd and scorch'd, and, stagnant on the sea,
They lay like carcasses; and hope was none,
Save in the breeze that came not; savagely
They glared upon each other: all was done,
Water, and wine, and food,-and you might see
The longings of the cannibal arise

(Although they spoke not) in their wolfish eyes.
At length one whisper'd his companion, who
Whisper'd another, and thus it went round,
And then into a hoarser murmur grew,

An ominous, and wild, and desperate sound;
And when his comrade's thought each sufferer knew,
'Twas but his own, suppress'd till now, he found:
And out they spoke of lots for flesh and blood,
And who should die to be his follow's food.

And the same night there fell a shower of rain,

For which their mouths gaped, like the cracks of earth
When dried to summer dust; till taught by pain,
Men really know not what good water 's worth;
If you had been in Turkey or in Spain,

Or with a famish'd boat's-crew had your berth,
Or in the desert heard the camel's bell,
You'd wish yourself where Truth is -in a well.
It pour'd down torrents, but they were no richer
Until they found a ragged piece of sheet,
Which served them as a sort of spongy pitcher,

And when they deem'd its moisture was complete,
They rung it out; and though a thirsty ditcher

Might not have thought the scanty draught so sweet As a full pot of porter, to their thinking

They ne'er till now had known the joys of drinking.
There were two fathers in this ghastly crew,

And with them their two sons, of whom the one
Was more robust and hardy to the view,

But he died early; and when he was gone,

His nearest messmate told his sire, who threw

One glance at him, and said, "Heaven's will be done! I can do nothing," and he saw him thrown

Into the deep without a tear or groan.
The other father had a weaklier child,
Of a soft check, and aspect delicate;
But the boy bore up long, and with a mild
And patient spirit held aloof his fate;
Little he said, and now and then he smiled,
As if to win a part from off the weight,
He saw increasing on his father's heart,

With the deep deadly thought, that they must part.
And o'er him bent his sire, and never raised

His eyes from off his face, but wiped the foam
From his pale lips, and ever on him gazed,

And when the wish'd-for shower at length was come,
And the boy's eyes, which the dull film half glazed,
Brighten'd, and for a moment seem'd to roam,
He squeezed from out a rag some drops of rain
Into his dying child's mouth-but in vain.

The boy expired-the father held the clay,
And look'd upon it long, and when at last
Death left no doubt, and the dead burthen lay
Stiff on his heart, and pulse and hope were past,
He watch'd it wistfully, until away

'Twas borne by the rude wave wherein 'twas cast Then he himself sunk down all dumb and shivering, And gave no sign of life, save his limbs quivering.

Now overhead a rainbow, bursting through

The scattering clouds, shone, spanning the dark sen, Resting its bright base on the quivering blue; And all within its arch appear'd to be

Clearer than that without, and its wide hus
Wax'd broad and waving, like a banner free.
Then changed like to a bow that's bent, and then
Forsook the dim eyes of these shipwreck'd men.
It changed, of course; a heavenly chameleon,
The airy child of vapour and the sun,
Lrought forth in purple, cradled in vermilion,
Baptized in molten gold, and swathed in dun,
Glittering like crescents o'er a Turk's pavilion,
And blending every colour into one,
Just like a black eye in a recent scuffle
(For sometimes we must box without the muffie).
Our shipwreck'd seamen thought it a good omen→
It is well to think so, now and then;
"Twas an old custom of the Greek and Roman,
And may become of great advantage when
Folks are discouraged; and most surely no men
Had greater need to nerve themselves again
Than these; and so this rainbow look'd like hope-
Quite a celestial kaleidoscope.

About this time a beautiful white bird,
Webfooted, not unlike a dove in size

And plumage (probably it might have err'd
Upon its course), pass'd oft before their eyes,
And tried to perch, although it saw and heard
The men within the boat; and in this guise
It came and went, and flutter'd round them till
Night fell :-this seem'd a better omen still.
But in this case I also must remark,

"Twas well this bird of promise did not perch, Because the tackle of our shatter'd bark

Was not so safe for roosting as a church;
And had it been the dove from Noah's ark,
Returning there from her successful search,
Which in their way that moment chanced to fall,
They would have eat her, olive-branch and all.
With twilight it again came on to blow,

But not with violence; the stars shone out,
The boat made way; yet now they were so low,
They knew not where, nor what, they were about
Some fancied they saw land, and some said "No!"
The frequent fog-banks gave them cause to doubt-
Some swore that they heard breakers, others guns,
And all mistook about the latter once.

As morning broke, the light wind died away,

When he who had the watch sung out and swore
If 'twas not land that rose with the sun's ray,
He wish'd that land he never might see more:
And the rest rubb'd their eyes and saw a bay,

Or thought they saw, and shaped their course for shore; For shore it was, and gradually grew

Distinct, and high, and palpable to view.

And then of these some part burst into tears,
And others, looking with a stupid stare,
Could not yet separate their hopes from fears,
And seem'd as if they had no further care;
While a few pray'd-(the first time for some years)→
And at the bottom of the boat three were
Asleep they shook them by the hand and head,
And tried to awaken them, but found them dead.
The day before, fast sleeping on the water,

They found a turtle of the hawk's-bill kind,
And by good fortune, gliding softly, caught her,
Which yielded a day's life, and to their mind
Proved even still a more nutritious matter,
Because it left encouragement behind:

They thought that, in such perils, more than chance
Had sent them this for their deliverance.

The land appear'd a high and rocky coast,
And higher grew the mountains as they drew,
Set by a current, toward it: they were lost
In various conjectures, for none knew

To what part of the earth they had been toss'd,
So changeable had been the winds that blew;
Some thought it was Mount Etna, some the highlands
Of Candia, Cyprus, Rhodes, or other islands.

Meantime the current, with a rising gale,

Still set them onwards to the welcome shore, Like Charon's bark of spectres, dull and pale: Their living freight was now reduced to four, And three dead, whom their strength could not avail To heave into the deep with those before,

Though the two sharks still follow'd them, and dash'd
The spray into their faces as they splash'd.

As they drew nigh the land, which now was seen
Unequal in its aspect here and there,

They felt the freshness of its growing green,

That waved in forest tops, and smoothed the air, And fell upon their glazed eyes like a screen

From glistening waves, and skies so hot and bareLovely seem'd any object that should sweep

Away the vast, salt, dread, eternal deep.

The shore look'd wild, without a trace of man,
And girt by formidable waves; but they
Were mad for land, and thus their course they ran
Though right ahead the roaring breakers lay:
A reef between them also now began

To show its boiling surf and bounding spray,
But finding no place for their landing better,
They ran the boat ashore,-and overset her.
But in his native stream, the Guadalquiver,
Juan to lave his youthful limbs was wont;
And having learnt to swim in that sweet river,
Had often turn'd the art to some account: