The Xebec
A soft wind rose, the Xebec sailed,—
She left the sunny port with glee,
Her lateen sail how gently failed,
Far o'er the laughing, azure sea.
No more the high brown shore in view,
The white Sierra coldly grand,
But stretched around its sparkling hue,
A wave that never washed the land.
The Xebec was a sharp, swift boat,
Her polished side was black as night,
Well did she trim, and gaily float
Like sea-bird o'er the water light.
Four sailors bold her crew compose,
And one fair youth who tempers these,
The swarthy men who feared no foes,
The rovers of the rolling seas.
And noon came on, the sailors slept,
The youth his watch kept in the stern,
When a levanter softly crept,
Poured from the desert's Arab urn.
Then freshened on so merrily
The Xebec leapt along the foam,
And left a long wake on the sea,
And parted further from her home.
And freshened on the fiery breeze,
Until the blue wave curled in air,
And fast they flew along the seas,
And gay they felt no further care.
Then clearer grew the sky all o'er,
And bolder blew the steady wind,
And now the Xebec plunged the more,
Whirling the eddies far behind.—
Haul fast the sheet!—the crew obey,
The bending mast hung o'er the waves,
And brighter shone the dazzling day,
And louder, louder the wind raves.
She strains and pulls, the rudder creaks,
They tack the sail, and on she drives,
While in her bottom start the leaks,—
They run a race,—'t is for their lives.
Take in the sail!—in vain they try,
It splits, and surges off the mast,
Along they plunge 'twixt sea and sky,
And driving onward,—onward fast.
One moment in the deep blue wave,
The next upon the topmast spray,
The winds weave riband as they rave,
Long lines of foam that glide away.
Then sweeping o'er the Xebec's side,
A monster wave pours crashing in,
No bark could brave the sea's blue tide,
Spares not the crew the rolling din.
The Xebec tosses on the sea,
A battered wreck to sail no more,
And still the youth how wearily
Dreams of a warm and sunny shore.
He sleeps how softly on the tide,
The Xebec drives upon the beach,
The youth dreams silent on the wide,
Cold couches of the sandy reach.
He wakes!—and in a fruitful isle,
Dark groves vine-covered steal his eye,
Ripely the waving harvests smile,
And perfumed breezes gently sigh.
He sees the Xebec's broken shape,
And stepping slowly seeks the field,
From loaded vine he plucks the grape,
Beneath, clear springs cool water yield.
If it was Home!—he sadly says,—
Alas! my vessel ne'er shall sail,
With the green isle must end my days,
Could I not perish in the gale?
And fell his tears in showers to earth,
Where proudly ruined temples stand,—
Why was I noble in my birth,
Alas! this is not my own land!
She left the sunny port with glee,
Her lateen sail how gently failed,
Far o'er the laughing, azure sea.
No more the high brown shore in view,
The white Sierra coldly grand,
But stretched around its sparkling hue,
A wave that never washed the land.
The Xebec was a sharp, swift boat,
Her polished side was black as night,
Well did she trim, and gaily float
Like sea-bird o'er the water light.
Four sailors bold her crew compose,
And one fair youth who tempers these,
The swarthy men who feared no foes,
The rovers of the rolling seas.
And noon came on, the sailors slept,
The youth his watch kept in the stern,
When a levanter softly crept,
Poured from the desert's Arab urn.
Then freshened on so merrily
The Xebec leapt along the foam,
And left a long wake on the sea,
And parted further from her home.
And freshened on the fiery breeze,
Until the blue wave curled in air,
And fast they flew along the seas,
And gay they felt no further care.
Then clearer grew the sky all o'er,
And bolder blew the steady wind,
And now the Xebec plunged the more,
Whirling the eddies far behind.—
Haul fast the sheet!—the crew obey,
The bending mast hung o'er the waves,
And brighter shone the dazzling day,
And louder, louder the wind raves.
She strains and pulls, the rudder creaks,
They tack the sail, and on she drives,
While in her bottom start the leaks,—
They run a race,—'t is for their lives.
Take in the sail!—in vain they try,
It splits, and surges off the mast,
Along they plunge 'twixt sea and sky,
And driving onward,—onward fast.
One moment in the deep blue wave,
The next upon the topmast spray,
The winds weave riband as they rave,
Long lines of foam that glide away.
Then sweeping o'er the Xebec's side,
A monster wave pours crashing in,
No bark could brave the sea's blue tide,
Spares not the crew the rolling din.
The Xebec tosses on the sea,
A battered wreck to sail no more,
And still the youth how wearily
Dreams of a warm and sunny shore.
He sleeps how softly on the tide,
The Xebec drives upon the beach,
The youth dreams silent on the wide,
Cold couches of the sandy reach.
He wakes!—and in a fruitful isle,
Dark groves vine-covered steal his eye,
Ripely the waving harvests smile,
And perfumed breezes gently sigh.
He sees the Xebec's broken shape,
And stepping slowly seeks the field,
From loaded vine he plucks the grape,
Beneath, clear springs cool water yield.
If it was Home!—he sadly says,—
Alas! my vessel ne'er shall sail,
With the green isle must end my days,
Could I not perish in the gale?
And fell his tears in showers to earth,
Where proudly ruined temples stand,—
Why was I noble in my birth,
Alas! this is not my own land!
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