"And oh, the little warlike world within
The well-reeved guns, the netted canopy,
The hoarse command, the busy humming din,
When, at a word, the tops are manned 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 skillful urchin guides.
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 feared by all—not oft he talks
With ought beneath him, if he would preserve
That strict restraint, which broken, ever balks
Conquest and fame .... "