Sailing
  Like a stately ship
  Of Tarsus, bound for the isles
  Of Javan or Gadire. 
  With all her bravery on, and tackle trim,
  Sails filled, and streamers waving,
  Courted by all the winds that hold them play,
  An amber scent of odorous perfume
  Her harbinger.
Samson Agonistes.  MILTON.

                      Behold the threaden sails,
  Borne with the invisible and creeping wind,
  Draw the huge bottoms through the furrowed sea,
  Breasting the lofty surge.
King Henry V., Act iii.  Chorus.  SHAKESPEARE.

Heaven speed the canvas, gallantly unfurled,
To furnish and accommodate a world,
To give the pole the produce of the sun,
And knit th’ unsocial climates into one.
Charity.  W. COWPER.

                          Dangerous rocks,
  Which touching but my gentle vessel’s side,
  Would scatter all her spices on the stream,
  Enrobe the roaring waters with my silks,
  And, in a word, but even now worth this,
  And now worth nothing.
Merchant of Venice, Act i.  Sc. 1.  SHAKESPEARE.

As rich.... 
As is the ooze and bottom of the sea
With sunken wreck and sumless treasuries.
King Henry V., Act i.  Sc. 2.  SHAKESPEARE.

Her deck is crowded with despairing souls,
And in the hollow pauses of the storm
We hear their piercing cries.
Bertram.  C.R.  MATURIN.

                             A brave vessel,
  Who had no doubt some noble creatures in her,
  Dashed all to pieces.  O, the cry did knock
  Against my very heart!  Poor souls! they perished.
The Tempest, Act i.  Sc. 2.  SHAKESPEARE.

They lit the high sea-light, and the dark began to fall.  “All hands to loose topgallant sails,” I heard the captain call.  “By the Lord, she’ll never stand it,” our first mate, Jackson, cried. ...  “It’s the one way or the other, Mr. Jackson,” he replied.

She staggered to her bearings, but the sails were new and good,
And the ship smelt up to windward just as though she understood. 
As the winter’s day was ending, in the entry of the night,
We cleared the weary headland, and passed below the light.
Christmas at Sea.  R.L.  STEVENSON.

SIGH.

                             To love,
  It is to be all made of sighs and tears.
As You Like It, Act V. Sc. 2.  SHAKESPEARE.

The world was sad.—­the garden was a wild;
And Man, the hermit, sighed—­till Woman smiled.
Pleasures of Hope, Pt.  I.  T. CAMPBELL.

Sighed and looked unutterable things. The Seasons:  Summer.  J. THOMSON.

My soul has rest, sweet sigh! alone in thee. To Laura in Death.  PETRARCH.

Yet sighes, deare sighes, indeede true friends you are
That do not leave your left friend at the wurst,
But, as you with my breast I oft have nurst,
So, gratefull now, you waite upon my care.
Sighes.  SIR PH.  SIDNEY.