Classic Poem

Grim Danger left his home in chartless wastes
To count his chances in our narrow seas;
What anchors he might drag, what noble masts
Disable, on the rock or in the breeze:
And while he rode the waves from place to place
Like Hermes, his rude eyes the lighthouse met;
And, as it seem'd to scan his heathen face
At leisure, he was dazzled and beset.
Morn dawn'd—in haste he bade the winds prepare
To wreck at eve the outgoing fisherman:
But Fitzroy heard—the storm-drum rose in air,
And not a coble but had changed its plan;
While in his ears the spit-buoys swung their bells
He could not dodge our English sentinels.