XVIII. And oh, the little warlike world within! The well-reeved guns, the netted canopy, (9) The hoarse command, the busy humming din, When, at a word, the tops are mann'd on high: Hark to the Boatswain's call, the cheering cry! While through the seaman's hand the tackle glides; Or schoolboy Midshipman that, standing by, Strains his shrill pipe as good or ill betides, And well the docile crew that skilful urchin guides. XIX. White is the glassy deck, without a stain, Where on the watch the staid Lieutenant walks: Look on that part which sacred doth remain For the lone chieftain, who majestic stalks, Silent and fear'd by all-not oft he talks With aught beneath him, if he would preserve That strict restraint, which broken, ever balks Conquest and Fame: but Britons rarely swerve From law, however stern, which tends their strength to nerve. XX. Blow! swiftly blow, thou keel-compelling gale! The flapping sail haul'd down to halt for logs like these! XXI. The moon is up; by Heaven, a lovely eve! Long streams of light o'er dancing waves expand; Or to some well-known measure featly move, Thoughtless, as if on shore they still were free to rove. XXII. Through Calpe's straits survey the steepy shore; From mountain-cliff to coast descending sombre down. XXIII. 'Tis night, when Meditation bids us feel Ah! happy years! once more who would not be a boy? XXIV. C Thus bending o'er the vessel's laving side, The soul forgets her schemes of Hope and Pride, A thought, and claims the homage of a tear; XXV. To sit on rocks, to muse o'er flood and fell, Converse with Nature's charms, and view her stores unroll'd. XXVI. But midst the crowd, the hum, the shock of men, To hear, to see, to feel, and to possess, And roam along, the world's tired denizen, With none who bless us, none whom we can bless; Minions of splendour shrinking from distress! None that, with kindred consciousness endued, If we were not, would seem to smile the less Of all that flatter'd, follow'd, sought, and sued; This is to be alone; this, this is solitude! XXVII. More blest the life of godly eremite, Which looks o'er waves so blue, skies so serene, XXVIII. Pass we the long, unvarying course, the track Pass we the calm, the gale, the change, the tack, XXIX. But not in silence pass Calypso's isles, (10) The sister tenants of the middle deep; There for the weary still a haven smiles, Though the fair goddess long hath ceased to weep, And o'er her cliffs a fruitless watch to keep For him who dared prefer a mortal bride: Here, too, his boy essay'd the dreadful leap Stern Mentor urged from high to yonder tide; While thus of both bereft,the nymph-queen doublysigh'd. XXX. Her reign is past, her gentle glories gone: This wayward, loveless heart, it would be thine: To cast a worthless offering at thy shrine, XXXI. Thus Harold deem'd, as on that lady's eye Well deem'd the little God his ancient sway was o'er. XXXII. Fair Florence found, in sooth with some amaze, Nor felt, nor feign'd at least, the oft-told flames, Which, though sometimes they frown, yet rarely anger dames, |