Page:McClure's Magazine volume 10.djvu/466

74 Sheer to the trap they crowd their way
 * From ports for this unbarred.

Quiet, and count our fatted prey,
 * The convoy and her guard!

On shoal with scarce a foot below,
 * Where rock and islet throne,

Hidden and hushed we watch them throw
 * Their sweeping lights along

Not here, not here your danger lies—
 * (Stare hard, O hooded eyne!)

Save where the dazed rock-pigeons rise
 * The lit cliffs give no sign.

Therefore—to break the rest ye seek
 * The Narrow Seas to clear—

Hark to the syren's whimpering shriek—
 * The driven death is here!

Look to your van a league away,—
 * What midnight terror stays

The bulk that checks against the spray
 * Her crackling tops ablaze?

Hit and hard hit! The blow went home
 * The muffled, knocking stroke—

The steam that over-runs the foam—
 * The foam that thins to smoke—

The smoke that clokes the deep aboil—
 * The deep that chokes her throes

Till, streaked with ash and sleeked with oil,
 * The lukewarm whirlpools close!