II

'Our boat has one sail,

And the helmsman is pale;—

A bold pilot I trow,

Who should follow us now,'—

Shouted he—

And she cried: 'Ply the oar!

Put off gaily from shore!'—

As she spoke, bolts of death

Mixed with hail, specked their path

      O'er the sea.

And from isle, tower and rock,

The blue beacon-cloud broke,

And though dumb in the blast,

(The red cannon flashed fast

      From the lee.