With yards alternate square, and sharply braced.
The dim horizon lowering vapours shroud,
And blot the sun yet struggling in the cloud;
Through the wide atmosphere condensed with haze,
His glaring orb emits a sanguine blaze.
The pilots now their azimuth attend,
On which all courses, duly formed, depend:
The compass placed to catch the rising ray,
The quadrant’s shadows studious they survey;
Along the arch the gradual index slides,