PART III ‘There pass’d a weary time. Each throat Was parch’d, and glazed each eye. A weary time! A weary time! How glazed each weary eye! When looking westward, I beheld A something in the sky.
‘At first it seem’d a little speck, And then it seem’d a mist; It moved and moved, and took at last A certain shape, I wist.
‘A speck, a mist, a shape, I wist! And still it near’d and near’d: As if it dodged a water-sprite, It plunged and tack’d and veered.
THE DEATH-FIRES DANCED AT NIGHT.
‘With throats unslaked, with black lips baked, We could nor laugh nor wail; Through utter drought all dumb we stood! I bit my arm, I suck’d the blood, And cried, “A sail! a sail!”
‘With throats unslaked, with black lips baked, Agape they heard me call: Gramercy! they for joy did grin, And all at once their breath drew in, As they were drinking all.
‘See! see! (I cried) she tacks no more! Hither to work us weal; Without a breeze, without a tide, She steadies with upright keel!