Sir W. Scott.
[ THE WRECK OF THE HESPERUS]
It was the schooner Hesperus, That sailed the wintry sea; And the skipper had taken his little daughter, To bear him company.
Blue were her eyes as the fairy-flax, Her cheeks like the dawn of day, And her bosom white as the hawthorn buds, That ope in the month of May.
The skipper he stood beside the helm, His pipe was in his mouth, And he watched how the veering flaw did blow The smoke now West, now South.
Then up and spake an old sailòr, Had sail’d the Spanish Main, ’I pray thee, put into yonder port, For I fear a hurricane.
‘Last night, the moon had a golden ring, And to-night no moon we see!’ The skipper, he blew a whiff from his pipe, And a scornful laugh laughed he.
Colder and louder blew the wind, A gale from the North-east; The snow fell hissing in the brine, And the billows frothed like yeast.
Down came the storm, and smote amain The vessel in its strength; She shudder’d and paused, like a frighted steed, Then leap’d her cable’s length.