Clouds rolled on clouds the dusky noon o’ercast:
The blackening ocean curls, the winds arise,
And the dark scud in swift succession flies.
While the swoln canvass bends the masts on high,
Low in the wave the leeward cannon lie.
The master calls, to give the ship relief,
‘The topsails lower, and form a single reef!’
Each lofty yard with slackened cordage reels;
Rattle the creaking blocks and ringing wheels.
Down the tall masts the topsails sink amain,