In the Bay of Biscay, O!"
I presume to attempt a description of what I observed in crossing this estuary; and I can truly affirm, that whatever may be the defects of my composition, it does not contain the slightest exaggeration—
"The light-blue sky is o'er us,
The dark-blue sea beneath,
The wave scarce moves before us,
As zephyrs gently breathe.
The great unfathom'd deep,
Calm as an infant's sleep,
Cheers our way, on this day,
Through the Bay of Biscay, O!