The blackening ocean curls, the winds arise,
And the dark scud [2] in swift succession flies. 130
While the swoln canvas bends the masts on high,
Low in the wave the leeward [3] cannon lie.
The master calls to give the ship relief,
The top-sails [4] lower, and form a single reef! [5]
Each lofty yard with slacken'd cordage reels;
Rattle the creaking blocks and ringing wheels.
Down the tall masts the top-sails sink amain,
Are mann'd and reef'd, then hoisted up again.
More distant grew receding Candia's shore,
And southward of the west Cape Spado bore. 140
Four hours the sun his high meridian throne
Had left, and o'er Atlantic regions shone;
Still blacker clouds, that all the skies invade,
Draw o'er his sullied orb a dismal shade:
A lowering squall obscures the southern sky,
Before whose sweeping breath the waters fly;
Its weight the top-sails can no more sustain--
Reef top-sails, reef! the master calls again.
The halyards and top-bow-lines [6] soon are gone,
To clue-lines and reef-tackles [7] next they run: 150
The shivering sails descend; the yards are square;
Then quick aloft the ready crew repair:
The weather-earings [8] and the lee they past,
The reefs enroll'd, and every point made fast.
Their task above thus finish'd, they descend,
And vigilant the approaching squall attend.
It comes resistless! and with foaming sweep
Upturns the whitening surface of the deep: