Then the skipper plied his oar,
And from off the shelving shore,
Glided out the strange explorer;
Floating on, she knew not whither,—
The tawny sands beneath her,
The great hills watching o’er her.
"Voyage of the Jettie" by John Greenleaf Whittier
Leave to me my pictures, Lord, leave my memories bright:
The twisted palms are clashing, and the sand is white.
The shore-boats crowd around us, the skipper's gig is manned,
The nutmegs spice the little wind that baffles off the land.
"The Blind Sailor" by Theodore Goodridge Roberts