Palsied Reckonings on Melville

I wondered what the lot of one at sea.
In a brown study, as one might say.
The measure of murky depths...Or to be
upon them, on the great expanse both ways,
across and down, down, to sandy floor, or not,
perhaps, the ignorance of depth to end, so too
the dark down there, perhaps.

What the letting of ways, boundless, restless sea,
airy element's viscous accomplice, giveth way 'pon
the very surface- but I wonder, as the fly trap feeds
it's visitor, for a time, then closes, swallows, yes,
that way, giveth to take, most dearly,
perhaps vicious then, filled so,
the fathoms, the sunken perished.
The many dreary dead.

But what the strength of this inducement. If it fair
to suppose, our courses be the same. Between I that
wonder and they who sail, cross the surging waters.
They that say, as setting out "let our fellowship here
be ended". Gone to consort with the waves and the fishes,
to be blown and buffeted 'mongst bone-chilling churn, to
be at last, undone, in a sea of doom, and yet, they die
but once, delivered from cowardice.

Hoist sail then and leave from death midst it's very jaws.
Let venture be our deliverance from many daggered maw.
Let the sea be our anchor, and doom be our saviour,
as we go willing, into the great unknown.