The Last Contention

I Young captain of a crazy bark! O tameless heart in battered frame! Thy sailing orders have a mark, And hers is not the name. II For action all thine iron clanks In cravings for a splendid prize; Again to race or bump thy planks With any flag that flies. III Consult them; they are eloquent For senses not inebriate. They trust thee on the star intent, That leads to land their freight. IV And they have known thee high peruse The heavens, and deep the earth, till thou Didst into the flushed circle cruise Where reason quits the brow. V Thou animatest ancient tales, To prove our world of linear seed: Thy very virtue now assails, A tempter to mislead. VI But thou hast answer I am I; My passion hallows, bids command: And she is gracious, she is nigh: One motion of the hand! VII It will suffice; a whirly tune These winds will pipe, and thou perform The nodded part of pantaloon In thy created storm. VIII Admires thee Nature with much pride; She clasps thee for a gift of morn, Till thou art set against the tide, And then beware her scorn. IX Sad issue, should that strife befall Between thy mortal ship and thee! It writes the melancholy scrawl Of wreckage over sea. X This lady of the luting tongue, The flash in darkness, billow's grace, For thee the worship; for the young In muscle the embrace. XI Soar on thy manhood clear from those Whose toothless Winter claws at May, And take her as the vein of rose Athwart an evening grey.