Like some bewildered monster of the deep,
Groping to freedom through the baffling tide,
She blunders forth, while nuzzling at her side
The bustling harbor craft about her creep.
Anon she feels her iron pulses leap,
And, symbol of the age's mastering pride,
Looks out to where the ocean stretches wide,
Scorning the fears that in its mystery sleep.

All day with headlong and undoubting haste,
And all the night upon her path she flames
Like some weird shape from olden errantry;
And when some wafted wanderer of the waste
A storm-worn pennant dips afar, proclaims
With raucous voice her strong supremacy.