Thrice with shrill note the boatswain’s whistle rung:
‘All hands unmoor!’ proclaims a boisterous cry;
‘All hands unmoor!’ the caverned rocks reply:
Roused from repose aloft the sailors swarm,
And with their levers soon the windlass arm:
The order given, up springing with a bound,
They fix the bars, and heave the windlass round;
At every turn the clanging pauls resound:
Up-torn reluctant from its oozy cave
The ponderous anchor rises o’er the wave.
High on the slippery masts the yards ascend,
And far abroad the canvass wings extend.
Along the glassy plain the vessel glides,
While azure radiance trembles on her sides;
The lunar rays in long reflection gleam,
With silver deluging the fluid stream.
Levant and Thracian gales alternate play,
Then in th’ Egyptian quarter die away.
A calm ensues; adjacent shores they dread,
The boats, with rowers manned, are sent ahead;
With cordage fastened to the lofty prow
Aloof to sea the stately ship they tow;
The nervous crew their sweeping oars extend,
And pealing shouts the shore of Candia rend:
Success attends their skill! the danger’s o’er:
The port is doubled, and beheld no more.