The Downing legends : Stories in Rhyme The witch of Shiloh, the last of the Wampanoags, the gentle earl, the enchanted voyage |
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The Downing legends : Stories in Rhyme | ||
168
XI
Man seemed an atom here. His power
To nothing turned in ocean's hour
Of wrath and rule. That slender bark,
Of late so like a skimming lark,
Was soon a mastless, drifting wreck
And barely showed its writhing deck
Above the flaked and sheeted spume,
That flashed like Death's eternal plume.
To nothing turned in ocean's hour
Of wrath and rule. That slender bark,
Of late so like a skimming lark,
Was soon a mastless, drifting wreck
And barely showed its writhing deck
Above the flaked and sheeted spume,
That flashed like Death's eternal plume.
It struggled not; its strength was done;
It had the fainting lurch of one
Who reels through lines of smiting foes
Half conscious of their jeers and blows.
The billows, watchful, swift of spring,
Pursued with hate this helpless thing,
Attending it as painted braves
Hunt bleeding prisoners to graves.
It had the fainting lurch of one
Who reels through lines of smiting foes
Half conscious of their jeers and blows.
The billows, watchful, swift of spring,
Pursued with hate this helpless thing,
Attending it as painted braves
Hunt bleeding prisoners to graves.
Titanic sea-gods jostled it;
Demonic, scoffing muzzles spit
Against it ere they hurtled past;
Unshapely, wallowing monsters massed
Their quivering bulks to overturn;
Above the prow, above the stern,
Chimaeras, dropping clots of foam
Gnashed threat'nings; watery imp and gnome
Waved hatred while they struggled by
From hither to the further sky;
In all the reeling, howling flight
No pity sounded; naught but spite.
Demonic, scoffing muzzles spit
Against it ere they hurtled past;
Unshapely, wallowing monsters massed
Their quivering bulks to overturn;
Above the prow, above the stern,
Chimaeras, dropping clots of foam
Gnashed threat'nings; watery imp and gnome
Waved hatred while they struggled by
From hither to the further sky;
In all the reeling, howling flight
No pity sounded; naught but spite.
The Downing legends : Stories in Rhyme | ||