A boat of rare device, which had no sail _325
But its own curved prow of thin moonstone,
Wrought like a web of texture fine and frail,
To catch those gentlest winds which are not known
To breathe, but by the steady speed alone
With which it cleaves the sparkling sea; and now _330
We are embarked—the mountains hang and frown
Over the starry deep that gleams below,
A vast and dim expanse, as o’er the waves we go.
But its own curved prow of thin moonstone,
Wrought like a web of texture fine and frail,
To catch those gentlest winds which are not known
To breathe, but by the steady speed alone
With which it cleaves the sparkling sea; and now _330
We are embarked—the mountains hang and frown
Over the starry deep that gleams below,
A vast and dim expanse, as o’er the waves we go.