O who can tell, that never sailed
Among the glassy seas,
How fresh and welcome breaks the morn
That ushers in a breeze!
Fair wind! Fair wind! alow, aloft,
All hands delight to cry—
As leaping through the parted waves
The good ship makes reply.
While fore and aft, all stanch and tight,
She spreads her canvas wide,
The captain walks his throne, the deck,
With more than monarch’s pride.
For well he knows the sea-bird’s wings,
So swift and sure to-day,
Will waft him many a league to-night
In triumph on his way.
Then welcome to the rushing blast
That stirs the waters now—
The white plumed heralds of the deep
Make music round her prow!
Good sea-room in the roaring gale—
Let stormy trumpets blow—
But chain ten thousand fathoms down
The sluggish calm below!
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