Classic Poem

When spring returns with western gales,
——And gentle breezes sweep
The ruffling seas, we spread our sails
——To plough the wat'ry deep.

For killing northern whales prepared,
——Our nimble boats on board,
With craft and rum (our chief regard)
——And good provisions stored,

Cape Cod, our dearest, native land,
——We leave astern, and lose
Its sinking cliffs and lessening sands,
——While Zephyr gently blows.

When eastward, clear of Newfoundland,
——We stem the frozen pole.
We see the icy islands stand,
——The northern billows roll.

A mighty whale we rush upon,
——And in our irons throw:
She sinks her monstrous body down
——Among the waves below.

She thrashes with her tail around,
——And blows her redd'ning breath;
She breaks the air, a deaf'ning sound,
——While ocean groans beneath.

From numerous wounds, with crimson flood
——She stains the frothy seas,
And grasps, and blows her latest blood,
——While quivering life decays.

With joyful hearts we see her die,
——And on the surface lay;
While all with eager haste apply,
——To save our deathful prey.