The Downing legends : Stories in Rhyme :: :: University of Virginia Library

But when a second sunset fired
Its western altar, greatly tired
The wind-enchanters seemed to be,
And smoothness slid along the sea,
The rushing, rocking, toppling peaks,
The watery snarls, the windy shrieks,
The cyclop anarchy of ocean
Subsided, failed in voice and motion,
Till mellow twilight's dwindling bounds
Revealed but rounded azure mounds,
Atlantic prairies rolling wide
Their gleamy downs through eventide.

And now our castaways might sleep,
As men have slumbered on the deep
Who knew not whether morning's light
Awaited them, or endless night.
They slept, but not without a word
Of prayer from Esther; was it heard?
Perchance, for when she oped her eyes
She lived and saw the blessed skies.
The night had vanished; morning shone;
Her father lived; she heard his tone,
And marveled why he talked alone.

Again she would have drowsed away,
But presently she heard him say,

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Disjointed words of marveling,
As one who spies a wondrous thing.
In Yankee dialect he spake,
And thus she heard him, half awake.

“Am I alive, or dead as Cyrus?
Is that a ship of ancient Tyrus?
Or have the Hindoos took a notion
To scoot in temples round the ocean?”