On board the busy vessels the noises grow more loud,
The masters and the boatswains rush eager in the crowd,
The captain of each frigate his silver whistle blows,
And on the lofty yard-arms the sailors stand in rows.
The white sails drop and belly out before the swelling breeze;
The white foam curls along the prow; the brave fleet seeks
the seas.
Don Juan held his course before the favoring gale,
At midday to the watchman he gave a roaring hail.
"Get higher to the mast-head!" he shouted strong and loud.