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LEWESDON HILL.
11
When forth for India sail'd, in evil time
That Vessel, whose disastrous fate, when told,
Fill'd every breast with horror, and each eye
With piteous tears; so cruel was the loss.[1]
Methinks I see her, as, by the wintry storm
Shatter'd and driven along past yonder Isle,
She strove, her latest hope, by strength or art
To gain the Port within it, or at worst
To shun that harbourless and hollow coast

  1. ↑ The distressful condition of the Halswell here alluded to is thus circumstantially described in the narrative of her loss, p. 13.
    "Thursday the 5th, at two in the morning the wind came to the southward, blew fresh, and the weather was very thick: at noon Portland was seen, bearing N. by E. distance two or three leagues; at eight at night it blew a strong gale at S. and at this time the Portland lights were seen, bearing N. W. distance four or five leagues, when they wore ship, and got her head to the westward; but finding they lost ground upon that tack, they wore again, and kept stretching on eastward, in hopes to have weathered Peverel-point, in which case they intended to have anchored in Studland Bay: at 11 at night it cleared, and they saw St. Alban's-head a mile and a half to the leeward of them; upon which they took in sail immediately, and let go the small bower anchor, which brought up the ship at a whole cable, and she rode for about an hour, but then drove; they now let go the sheet anchor and wore away a whole cable, and the ship rode for about two hours longer, when she drove again.—They were then driving very fast on shore, and might expect every moment to strike!"

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