It plunged, and tacked, and veered.
At its nearer approach it seemeth to him to be a ship, bearing the hopeful name of Autumn Session.]
With throats unslaked, with black lips baked,
We scarce could laugh or wail;
Through utter drought all dumb we stood!
I bit my tongue—it did me good—
And cried "A Sail! A Sail!!!"
A flash of joy among his shipmates,]
With throats unslaked, with black lips baked,
Agape they heard me call.