down the darkling night
  And in his melancholy mood the captive left the height. 
  He gained his boat, with trembling hand he seized the laboring oar
  And turning to the foaming wave he left his native shore. 
  “Ah, well I wot on ocean’s breast when loud the tempest blows
  Will rest be found when solid ground denies the heart repose. 
  Now let the hostile sea perceive no power of hers I dread,
  But rather ask her vengeance may fall upon my head.” 
  Into the night the shallop turned, while floated far behind
  The captive’s lamentation like a streamer on the wind. 
      And now, like furies, from the east the gale began to blow,
      And with the crash of thunder the billows broke below.

STRIKE SAIL!

  A Turkish bark was on the sea, the sunny sea of Spain,
  In sight of cliffs that Hercules made boundaries of the main;
  And one, Celimo’s captive slave, as fierce the billows grew,
  Was listening as the ship-master this order gave the crew: 
          “Strike sail!  Strike sail!  The furious gale
          Is rising fast!  Strike sail!”

  Fierce fell on them the opposing winds, the ship was helpless driven;
  And with the ocean’s flood were blent the thunder-drops of heaven. 
  And as the inky clouds were rent, the fiery lightning flared,
  And ’mid the terror-stricken crew one voice alone was heard: 
        “Strike sail!  Strike sail!  The furious gale
        Is rising fast!  Strike sail!”

  And one there sat upon the deck, in captive misery,
  Whose tears ran mingling with the flood, the flood of sky and sea. 
  Lost in the tempest of his thoughts, he fondly breathed a prayer,
  Whose mournful words were echoed by the mount of his despair: 
        “Strike sail!  Strike sail!  The furious gale
        Is rising fast!  Strike sail!”

  “If I am captive and a slave, the time shall come when God
  Will bring me freed, to tread once more my own, my native sod! 
  Then all my ancient glory shall return to me for aye. 
  Till then, my soul, be patient and wait that happy day!”
        “Strike sail!  Strike sail!  The furious gale
        Is rising fast!  Strike sail!”

THE CAPTIVE’S ESCAPE

  The fair Florida sat at ease, upon a summer’s day,
  Within a garden green and fair that by the river lay,
  And gayly asked that he her spouse would tell his darling wife
  The cause of his captivity, the history of his life. 
  “Now tell me, dearest husband, I pray thee tell me true,
  Who were thy parents, and what land thy birth and nurture knew? 
  And wherefore did they take thee a captive from that place,
  And who has given thee liberty, thy homeward path to trace?”
  “Yes, I will tell thee, gentle wife, and I will tell thee true,
  For tender is the light I see within thine