About my neck was hung.
Part III
- There passed a weary time. Each throat
- Was parched, and glazed each eye.
- A weary time! a weary time!
- How glazed each weary eye,
- When looking westward, I beheld
- A something in the sky.
- At first it seemed a little speck,
- And then it seemed a mist;
- It moved and moved, and took at last
- A certain shape, I wist.
- A speck, a mist, a shape, I wist!
- And still it neared and neared:
- As if it dodged a water-sprite,
- It plunged and tacked and veered.
- With throats unslaked, with black lips baked,
- We could nor laugh nor wail;
- Through utter drought all dumb we stood!
- I bit my arm, I sucked the blood,
- And cried, A sail! a sail!
- With throats unslaked, with black lips baked,
- Agape they heard me call:
- Gramercy! they for joy did grin,
- And all at once their breath drew in.
- As they were drinking all.
- See! see! (I cried) she tacks no more!
- Hither to work us weal;
- Without a breeze, without a tide,
- She steadies with upright keel!
- The western wave was all a-flame.
- The day was well nigh done!