Below, in the dark narrow spaces,
The Islesman gropes, down in the hold;
Unnoticed, and one among many;
What harm can his hatred unfold?

Swarm the men to the rigging, and swiftly
Shine clouds of white canvas, and clank
The links of the anchor's great cable,
Creaks, trampled on deck, every plank:

Swings round the huge bowsprit, and slowly
With motion majestic and free,
The galleon, vast, gilded, and mighty,
Passes on, passes forth, to the sea.

Her colours still paint all the ripples,
Repeated her banners all seem,
Her sails, and her gold, and her cannon
Float on like a gorgeous dream.

Came a flash, and a roar, and a smoke-cloud
Rushed up, and spread far o'er the sky;
Sank a wreck, black, and rugged, and blasted,
While the sound on the winds swept by.

And the mountains sent back the dull thunder
As though to all time they would tell
The vengeance that pealed to the Heavens
From the Harbour of "Mary's Well."