Companion, binacle, in floating wreck,
With compasses and glasses strewed the deck;
The balanced mizen, rending to the head,
In fluttering fragments from its bolt-rope fled;
The sides convulsive shook on groaning beams,
And, rent with labour, yawned their pitchy seams.
They sound the well, and, terrible to hear!
Five feet immersed along the line appear:
At either pump they ply the clanking brake,
And, turn by turn, th’ ungrateful office take: