That underneath it the pressed waters fail,
And with its weight it shoulders off the tides.
178.
Now, anchors weighed, the seamen shout so shrill,
That heaven and earth, and the wide ocean, rings;
A breeze from westward waits their sails to fill,
And rests in those high beds his downy wings.
179.
The wary Dutch this gathering storm foresaw,
And durst not bide it on the English coast;