Sir John Hanmer (1809–1881)

WHITE wings, that o’er the hyacinthine sea

With joy or hope or sorrow long have sped;

Since first he voyaged whom the Colchian wed,

Bearing lone ships o’er many a salt degree;

A voice came thence, where ye were wont to be,

A strange and serpent utterance; high o’erhead

Trailed its dark breath; and with Ixion’s tread

A keel passed by, mocking the stormy lee.

Into the rack, far lessening, on it went,

As once that antique lover of the cloud;

While ye to veering winds were bowed and bent;

And Ocean roared with his great voice aloud,

Lashing his waves ’gainst isle and continent,

Vexed with the wake that wheel-borne ship had ploughed.