Page:The Lusiad (Camões, tr. Mickle, 1791), Volume 1.djvu/449

 Back, back the ship recedes; in vain the crew With shouts on shouts their various toils renew; In vain each nerve, each nautic art they strain, And the rough wind distends the sail in vain: Enraged, the sailors see their labours crost; From side to side the reeling helm is tost: High on the poop the skilful master stands; Sudden he shrieks aloud, and spreads his hands—— A lurking rock its dreadful rifts betrays, And right before the prow its ridge displays; Loud shrieks of horror from the yard-arms rise, And a dire general yell invades the skies. The Moors start, fear-struck, at the horrid sound, As if the rage of combat roar'd around. Pale are their lips, each look in wild amaze The horror of detected guilt betrays. Pierc'd by the glance of G AMA 's awful eyes The conscious pilot quits the helm and flies, From the high deck he plunges in the brine; His mates their safety to the waves consign; Dash'd by their plunging falls on every side Foams and boils up around the rolling tide. Thus the hoarse tenants of the sylvan lake, A Lycian race of old, to flight betake;