Fair laughs the morn, and soft the zephyr blows; While proudly riding o'er the azure realm In gallant trim the gilded vessel goes, Youth on the prow, and Pleasure at the helm; Regardless of the sweeping whirlwind's sway, That hush'd in grim repose expects his evening prey.
Source: The Bard. II. 2, Line 9.
Contributed by: Zaady