THE SPIRIT OF NAVIGATION . Inscribed to the Rev. Dr Vincent Hind , Master of Westminster School . Stern Father of the storm ! who dost abide Amid the solitude of the vast deep , For ever listening to the sullen tide , And whirlwinds that the billowy desert sweep ! Thou at the distant death-shriek dost rejoice ; The rule of the tempestuous main is thine , Outstretched and lone ; thou utterest thy voice , Like solemn thunders : These wild waves are mine ; Mine their dread empire ; nor shall man profane The eternal secrets of my ancient reign . The voice is vain : secure , and as in scorn , The gallant vessel scuds before the wind ; Her parting sails swell stately to the morn ; She leaves the green earth and its hills behind ; Gallant before the wind she goes , her prow High bearing , and disparting the blue tide That foams and flashes in its rage below ; Meantime the helmsman feels a conscious pride , And while far onward the long billows swell , Looks to the lessening land , that seems to say , Farewell ! Father of storms ! then let thy whirlwinds roar O'er seas of solitary amplitude ; Man , the poor tenant of thy rocky shore , Man , thy terrific empire hath subdued ; And though thy waves toss his high-foundered bark Where no dim watch-light gleams , still he defies Thy utmost rage , and in his buoyant ark Speeds on , regardless of the darkening skies ; And o'er the mountain-surges , as they roll , Subdues his destined way , and speeds from pole to pole . Behold him now , far from his native plain , Where high woods shade some wild Hesperian bay , Or green isles glitter in the southern main , His streaming ensign to the morn display ! Behold him , where the North's pale meteors dance , And icy rocks roll glimmering from afar , Fearless through night and solitude advance ! Or where the pining sons of Andamar , When dark eclipse has wrapt the labouring moon , Howl to the demon of the dread monsoon ! Time was , like them , poor Nature's shivering child , Pacing the beach , and by the salt spray beat , He watched the melancholy surge , or smiled To see it burn and bicker at his feet ; In some rude shaggy spot , by fortune placed , He dreamed not of strange lands , and empires spread , Beyond the rolling of the watery waste ; He saw the sun shine on the mountain's head , But knew not , whilst he hailed the orient light , What myriads blessed his beam , or sickened at the sight . From some dark promontory , that o'erbent The flashing waves , he heard their ceaseless roar ; Or carolled in his light canoe content , As , bound from creek to creek , it grazed the shore ; Gods of the storm the dreary space might sweep , And shapes of death , and gliding spectres gaunt , Might flit , he thought , o'er the remoter deep ; And whilst strange voices cried , Avaunt , avaunt ! Uncertain lights , seen through the midnight gloom , Might lure him sadly on to his cold watery tomb . No city , then , amid the calm clear day , O'er the blue waters ' undulating line , With battlements , and fans that glittered gay , And piers , and thronging masts , was seen to shine . No cheerful sounds were wafted on the gale , Nor hummed the shores with early industry ; But mournful birds in hollow cliffs did wail , And there all day the cormorant did cry , While with sunk eye , and matted , dripping locks , The houseless savage slept beneath the foam-beat rocks . Thus slumbering long upon the dreamy verge Of instinct , see , he rouses from his trance ! Faint , and as glimmering yet , the Arts emerge , One after one , from darkness , and advance , Beauteous , as o'er the heavens the stars ' still way . Now see the track of his dominion wide , Fair smiling as the dayspring ; cities gay Lift their proud heads , and o'er the yellow tide , Whilst sounds of fervent industry arise , A thousand pennants float bright streaming in the skies ! Genius of injured Asia ! once sublime And glorious , now dim seen amid the storm , And melancholy clouds of sweeping time , Who yet dost half reveal thine awful form , Pointing , with saddened aspect and slow hand , To vast emporiums , desolate and waste ; To wrecks of unknown cities , sunk in sand ! 'Twas at thy voice , Arts , Order , Science , Taste . Upsprung , the East adorning , like the smile Of Spring upon the banks of thy own swelling Nile . 'Twas at thy voice huge Enterprise awoke , That , long on rocky Aradus reclined , Slumbered to the hoarse surge that round her broke , And hollow pipings of the idle wind ; She heard thy voice , upon the rock she stood Gigantic , the rude scene she marked — she cried , Let there be intercourse , and the great flood Waft the rich plenty to these shores denied ! And soon thine eye delighted saw aspire , Crowning the midland main , thy own Imperial Tyre . Queen of the waters ! who didst ope the gate Of Commerce , and display in lands unknown Thy venturous sail , ev'n now in ancient state Methinks I see thee on thy rocky throne ; I see their massy piles thy cothons Artificial harbours . rear , And on the deep a solemn shadow cast ; I traverse thy once echoing shores , and hear The sound of mighty generations past : I see thy kingly merchants ' thronged resort , And gold and purple gleam o'er all thy spacious port . I mark thy glittering galleys sweep along — The steady rowers to the strokes incline , And chaunt in unison their choral song ; White through their oars the ivory benches shine ; The fine-wrought sails , which looms of Egypt wove , Swell beautiful beneath the bending mast ; Hewn from proud Lebanon's immortal grove , The oaks of Bashan brave the roaring blast ! So o'er the western wave thy vessels float , For verdant Egypt bound , or Calpe's cliffs remote . Queen of the waters ! throned upon thy seat Amid the sea , thy beauty and thy fame The deep , that rolls low-murmuring at thy feet , And all the multitude of isles , proclaim ! For thee Damascus piles her woolly store ; To thee their flocks Arabia's princes bring ; And Sheba heaps her spice and glittering ore ; The ships of Tarshish of thy glory sing : Ezekiel xxvii . 25 , " The ships of Tarshish did sing of thee , and thou wast replenished , and made very glorious in the midst of the seas . " Queen of the waters ! who is like to thee , Replenished in thy might , and throned on the sea ! The purple streamers fly , the trumpets sound , The adventurous bark glides on in tranquil state ; The voyagers , with leafy garlands crowned , Draw back their arms together , and elate Sweep o'er the surge ; the spray far scattered flies Beneath the stroke of their unwearied oars ; To their loud shouts the circling coast replies ; And now , o'er the deep ocean , where it roars They fly ; till slowly lessening from the shore , Beneath the haze they sink — sink , and are seen no more . When Night descends , and with her silver bow The Queen of Heaven Astarte , or the Moon , the goddess of the Sidonians , called the Queen of Heaven . " The women knead their dough , to make cakes to the Queen of Heaven " ( Jer. vii . 18 ) . comes forth in radiance bright , Surveying the dim earth and seas below ; Why from afar resounds the mystic rite Hymned round her uncouth altar ? Virgins there ( Amid the brazen cymbal's hollow ring ) And aged priests the solemn feast prepare ; To her their nightly orisons they sing ; That she may look from her high throne , and guide The wandering bark secure along the trackless tide . Her on his nightly watch the pilot views Careful , and by her soft and tranquil light , Along the uncertain coast his track pursues ; And now he sees great Carmel's woody height , Where nightly fires to grisly Baal burn ; Round the rough cape he winds ; meantime far on Thick eddying scuds the hollow surf upturn ; He thinks of the sweet light of summer gone ! He thinks , perhaps , dashed on the rugged shore , He never shall behold his babes ' loved mother more ! Slow comes the morn ; but ah ! what demon form , Waterspouts are more frequent near the capes of Latikea , Grecgo , and Carmel , than in any other parts of the Mediterranean Sea . — Shaw's Travels . While pealing thunder the high concave rends , Rises more vast amid the rushing storm ! With dreadful shade his horrid bulk ascends Dark to the driving clouds ; beneath him roars The deep ; his troubled brow is wrapped in gloom ; See , it moves onwards ; now more huge it soars ! Who shall avert the poor seafarer's doom ! Who now shall save him from the spectre's might That treads the rocking waves in thunder and in night ! Dread phantom ! art thou he whose fearful sway , As Egypt's hoary chronicles have told , The clouds , the whirlwinds , and the seas obey , Typhon , of aspect hideous to behold ! Oh , spare the wretched wanderers , who , led By flattering hopes , have left the peaceful shore ! Behold , they shrink , they bend with speechless dread ; From their faint grasp drops the unheeded oar ! It answers not , but mingling seas and sky , In clouds , and wind , and thunder , rushes by . Hail to thy light , lord of the golden day , That , bursting through the sable clouds again , Dost cheer the seaman's solitary way , And with new splendour deck the lucid main ! And lo ! the voyage past , where many a palm , The coast of Egypt is not discovered till its trees are seen . Its green top only seen , the prospect bounds , Fringing the sunny sea-line , clear and calm ; Now hark the slowly-swelling human sounds ! Meantime the bark along the placid bay Of Tamiatis keeps her easy-winding way . Here rest we safe from scenes of peril past , No danger lurks in this serene retreat ; No more is heard the roaring of the blast , But pastoral sounds of scattered flocks that bleat , Or evening herds that o'er the champaign low ; Here citrons tall and purple dates around Delicious fragrance and cool shade bestow ; The shores with murmuring industry resound ; While through the vernal pastures where he strays , The Nile , as with delight , his mazy course delays .