While o’er the quivering deck from van to rear
Broad surges roll in terrible career,
Rodmond, Arion, and a chosen crew,
This office in the face of death pursue;
The wheeled artillery o’er the deck to guide,
Rodmond descending claimed the weather-side;
Fearless of heart, the Chief his orders gave,
Fronting the rude assaults of every wave—
Like some strong watch-tower nodding o’er the deep,
Whose rocky base the foaming waters sweep.