To keep, some days, the dying from the dead:
Some cordage, canvas, sails, and lines, and twine.
But treasures all to hermits of the brine,
Were added after, to the earnest prayer
Of those who saw no hope save sea and air;
And last, that trembling vassal of the Pole,
The feeling compass, Navigation's soul.
The launch is crowded with the faithful few
Who wait their Chief—a melancholy crew: