Classic Poem

The waves, like ridges of plow'd land, are high;
Whereat the ship oft stumbling, down doth lie.
But, in a calm, the sea's like meadows seen
Level; its saltness makes it look as green.
When ships thereon a slow soft pace do walk;
Then mariners, as shepherds, sing and talk:
Some whistle, and some on their pipes do play;
And thus, with mirth, they pass their time away.
And every mast is like a May-pole high,
Round which they dance, though not so merrily
As shepherds do, when they their lasses bring
Garlands, to May-poles tied with a silk string.
Instead of garlands, they hang on their mast
Huge sails and ropes, to tie these garlands fast.
Instead of lasses, they do dance with Death;
And for their music, they have Boreas breath.
Instead of wine and wassails, drink salt tears;
And for their meat, they feed on nought but fears.
For flocks of sheep, great schools of herrings swim;
The whales, as ravenous wolves, do feed on them.
As sportful kids skip over hillocks green,
So dancing dolphins, on the waves are seen.
The porpoise, like their watchful dog espies,
And gives them warning when great winds will rise.
Instead of barking, he his head doth show
Above the waters, when they roughly flow:
And, like as men, in time of show'ring rain
And wind, do not in open fields remain;
But quickly run for shelter to a tree:
So ships at anchor lie upon the sea.