Classic Poem

A VESSEL trimly gilt, was seen to glide
In a mild season down the crystal tide,
Thence tow'rd the ocan pass'd with fav'ring gales,
That kiss'd her flag, and fill'd her silken sails;
Round her the silver swans made stately way,
And glitt'ring fishes swam in wanton play;
While vary'd clouds, in pleasing forms that rise,
Glow'd with the beams which deck the azure skies:
Then joy'd the mariners, nor fear'd to find
A happy passage to the port assign'd.
Thus pass'd she on, 'till launching on the main,
The skies grew black, the heav'ns pour'd down the rain;
The pow'rs that now disturb'd the angry deep
Had op'd their gates, where dreadful tempests sleep.
Too careless, while the crew their senses drown'd
In flowing cups of wine, or rest profound.
Now, rous'd at once, far other scenes they view'd
Than those which charm'd them on the peaceful flood;
For o'er their heads the mutt'ring thunders roll,
And glowing lightnings flash from pole to pole.
New toils succeed, and doubts and fears arise,
Whence peace recedes and wanton pleasure flies;
The silken sails are rent, and shiver'd all
At once the masts and purple streamers fall;
The rising billows o'er the vessel sweep,
Rocks threaten soon to whelm her in the deep;
Now valu'd gold, as dross, away they cast,
And, lighten'd, hop'd to reach the port at last.
O'er ocean now, slow moving, fraught with woe,
No more in gaudy trim, with pompous show,
But sad, distress'd, in piteous state they go.
At length a shelt'ring port with toil they gain,
Happy to 'scape the dangers of the main,
No more desirous to display their pride,
They thank their God for life, and trust in none beside.