xiv TO THE FIGUKE-HEAD OF “ THE FOAM.” 
IV. 
The scowling tempest rose in vain to clutch 
His forked bolts; you smiled,—they harmless turned 
To sheets of splendour at his palsied touch, 
And all their anger perished ere it burned. 
v. 
Now tinkling waves a peal of welcome rang 
Against the sheathing of our brazen bows,— 
No gladder hymn the rosy Nereids sang, 
When, clad in sunshine. Aphrodite rose. 
VI. 
Anon, a mightier passion stirr’d the deep— 
Presumptuous billows scaled the quivering deck; 
Up to your very lips would dare to leap, 
And fling their silver arms about your neck; 
VII. 
The uncouth winds stole kisses from your cheek, 
Then, wild with exultation, hurried on 
And boasting bade their laggard comrades seek 
The momentary bliss themselves had won, 
