As she mounted into the skies.
Sailed from the crowds and sought the clouds
The cynosure of all eyes.
But two short hours have passed us,
And here we hang o’er the sea,
In a terrible plight—not a sail in sight,
And descending rapid-lee,
A few feet below us—The Ocean!
We are fully ten miles from the land.
Good God! see—she dies—not an inch can we rise