Гей остров
С нежными взрывами южного воздуха,
Через глубину мы держались,
Вокруг нашего барка гладкие воды играли,
Никакие завистливые облака не затемняют день,
Серена пришла в вечернюю тень.
Еще дальше к северу мы нарисовали,
И горы Порто-Рико голубые,
Просто разлагались на глазу,
Когда из главного возникло солнце;
Перед его лучом летят тени,
Как мы перед бризами бежим.
Теперь к северу от тропического перевала 'd,
Непостоянное небо наконец стало черным;
Рычали буйные ветры,
Море покорилось их тиранической силе,
А мы, увы! слишком далеко от берега,
Должен теперь оставить наш курс destin 'd.
Шипование парусов наконец под рукой,
Вентиляционный капитан дал команду;
Но едва к задаче пошли они
Когда огромный биллоу о 'ер нас сломался,
И рвал простыни и выхватывал,
Боны также не смогли выдержать удар.
Все еще vaster встал сердитый главный.
Ветры сквозь каждый саван жалуются;
Топсель.
***
From a gay island green and fair,
With gentle blasts of southern air,
Across the deep we held our way,
Around our barque smooth waters played,
No envious clouds obscur'd the day,
Serene came on the evening shade.
Still farther to the north we drew,
And Porto Rico's mountains blue,
Were just decaying on the eye,
When from the main arose the sun;
Before his ray the shadows fly,
As we before the breezes run.
Now northward of the tropic pass'd,
The fickle skies grew black at last;
The ruffian winds began to roar,
The sea obey'd their tyrant force,
And we, alas! too far from shore,
Must now forsake our destin'd course.
The studding sails at last to hand,
The vent'rous captain gave command;
But scarcely to the task went they
When a vast billow o'er us broke,
And tore the sheets and tacks away,
Nor could the booms sustain the stroke.
Still vaster rose the angry main.
The winds through every shroud complain;
The topsails we could spread no more,
Though doubly reef'd, the furious blast
Away the fluttering canvas bore,
And vow'd destruction to the mast.
When now the northern storm was quell'd,
A calm ensued--but ocean swell'd
Beyond the towering mountain's height,
Till from the south new winds arose;
Our sails we spread at dead of night,
And fair, though fierce, the tempest blows.
When morning rose, the skies were clear
The gentle breezes warm and fair,
Convey'd us o'er the wat'ry road;
A ship o'ertook us on the way,
Her thousand sails were spread abroad,
And flutter'd in the face of day.
At length, through many a climate pass'd,
C;saria's hills we saw at last,
And reach'd the land of lovely dames;
My charming C;lia there I found,
'Tis she my warmest friendship claims,
The fairest maid that treads the ground.
[175] Unique in the October number of the _United States Magazine_,
1779. The poem doubtless describes the poet's voyage home from the
West Indies, in June and July, 1778.
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