To chase that tainted tide;
Fresh from the pastures and the cedar-grove,
They rode the ridged Atlantic’s copper plain,
And rent a league of distance to reveal
A sail, aslant, astrain,
Impetuous for the cove;
And tossing after, panic-stricken,
Another, and a third: white spirits, fain to sicken,
Nor out of natural harm salvation gain.
The selfsame hunter winds that drave