'Twas sad as sad could be,
And we did speak only to break
The silence of the sea!

"All in a hot and copper sky,
The bloody sun at noon,
Right up above the mast did stand.
No bigger than the moon.

"Day after day, day after day,
We stuck, nor breath, nor motion;
As idle as a painted ship
Upon a painted ocean.

"Water, water, every where,
And all the boards did shrink;
Water, water, every where
And not a drop to drink!"

Happily "dead calms" do not generally last so long as to lead to any
serious result. Sailors have a superstitious and foolish belief that
whistling in a calm will bring up a breeze, and they do this in a
drawling, beseeching tone, on some prominent part of the vessel. Poor
fellows! what a pity that their thoughts should not more frequently be
directed to Him "who hath measured the waters in the hollow of his hand,
and meted out heaven with a span," and whose works and wonders in the
deep "they that go down to the sea in ships" have such abundant
opportunity for observing.