[NO'TH-EAST BY EAST.]
I.
The wind is East, what little there is,
No'th-East by East, and the captain lays
His ship all lady-like in stays,
Stripped as far as it decent is.
For three points off her weather-bow
The curtain of mist that passed just now
Has shut the light out suddenly;
The big bright Eye that over the sea
Is rolling round unceasingly:
A dim white-darkness spreads about,
And sun, and moon, and stars are out,
Alow and aloft; from Holmes's Hole
To a point in the east'ard not yet known;
And where the White Bear, shook from the pole
By an avalanche, sits perched alone,
Or floating down to the southern sea
Stalks round in sullen majesty,
With a keen eye out for the wrecked that come
With the breaking surge to his icy home;
All over this waste of sea and land
The light is out—as an unseen Hand
Had drawn a curtain over at once,
To cool it all for the summer months.
The sea rolls lazily, and whist.
As the motions of the whirling mist;
A pantomime of air and sea,
That hath a solemn witchery,
Which puzzles the cock, who has the right
If any one has, to know day-light;
But tired at last, he gives up, dumb
With wondering when the morn will come;
And after straining his lungs all day,
Kicks up a row in his family.
The porpoise out on the fishing ground
With a running start, comes upward-bound,
Then skimming along the ocean's brim,
And just in tone with its solemn hymn,
He snorts and blows, with a careless fling
Of his short bob-tail, as it suited him
Exceedingly, that sort of thing;
Or, startled from her easy swing,
The fluttering of a sea-bird's wing,
The moaning cry of some lost bird,
Or the dropping of a spar, is heard.
And sudden, as from eternity,
Quick to the eye and quickly missed,
Just in and out of the driving mist,
A something white moves slowly by,
And you know that a ship is drifting nigh;
A moment in, and a moment out,
And then with the lull, a smothered shout,
And all is dull and hushed again
To the still small talk of the mighty rain;
Or the 'Graves,' that never can quiet be
While a pulse is left in the heaving sea;
The gossiping Graves, now off the lee
You may hear them muttering; either side,
As the ship heaves round with the lazy tide;
And weary and faint, as a sick man raves,
Is the senseless talk of the gossiping Graves.
Farther down in the outer bay,
Knocking about as best they may,
The ships that rounded the cape to-day
Lie off and on, with a slow chasseé;
All sorts of freight, from tar to teas,
All manner of craft, that skim the seas:
Some, just come in from an eastern cruise,
Are big with the latest China news;
Some, ballasted with golden sand,
Are perfumed from Arabia's strand;
Some with a crust from the Levant,
And some without, are from Nahant;
(Oh, sweet to them as Sabbath bells
Would be the ring of its rocky wells!)
And many an enterprising Noah
Is there, with latest news from shore;
With pilot-boat so snug and taut,
And motion of grace, like an æronaut
Caught in a cloud, when the wind is low,
The sky above and the sea below:
But sauciest, among them all,
The harlequin of the mist-masked ball,
And livelier than the fisherman,
With jaunty roll the pinkie trim
Turns up his tail to the Indiaman,
(Either end is the same to him,)
Or skips around the steamer that plays
Like a thing bewitched in the general maze;
Feeling about, as shy of her limbs,
And careful and slow as a blind man swims.
And many a turn-coat stomach below,
That held out bravely until now,
Rises with every swell of the yeast
Peculiar to No'th-East by East.
II.
'Tis the morning hour by the Old South clock,
But the light is hardly enough to mock
The candies lit in the breakfast-room:
Ugh! ugh! Ugh! ugh!
Nobody up, but the maid and groom,
And not a spark to cheer the gloom:
Ugh! ugh!
Unless they get one up, those two,
By the candles lit in the breakfast room.
Is the day foggy and cold?
Decidedly—both foggy and cold;
And so for three long days shall be,
While hangs this mist o'er land and sea;
Three days and nights, like a frightful dream—
Some say the earth is blowing off steam.