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THE SUN o’er the waters was throwing In the freshness of morning its beams; And the breast of the ocean seemed glowing With glittering silvery streams: A bark in the distance was bounding Away for the land on her lee; And the boatswain’s shrill whistle resounding Came over and over the sea. The breezes blew fair and were guiding Her swiftly along on her track, And the billows successively passing, Were lost in the distance aback. The sailors seemed busy preparing For anchor to drop ere the night; The red rusted cables in fathoms Were haul’d from their prisons to light. Each rope and each brace was attended By stout-hearted sons of the main, Whose voices, in unison blended, Sang many a merry-toned strain.
Forgotten their care and their sorrow, . . . . .And gloomy and dark grew the sky; The ocean in blackness was shrouded, And wails of a tempest flew by; The bark o’er the billows high surging ’Mid showers of the foam-crested spray, Now sinking, now slowly emerging, Held onward her dangerous way. The gale in the distance was veering To a point that would drift her on land, And fearfully he that was steering Look’d round on the cliff-girdled strand. He thought of the home now before him And muttered sincerely a prayer That morning might safely restore him To friends and to kind faces there. He knew that if once at the mercy Of the winds and those mountain-like waves The sun would rise over the waters— The day would return on their graves. . . . . .Still nearer the rock-skirted shore; Yet fiercer the tempest was howling And louder the wild waters roar. The cold rain in torrents came pouring On deck thro’ the rigging and shrouds, And the deep, pitchy dark was illumined Each moment with gleams from the clouds Of forky-shap’d lightning as, darting, It made a wide pathway on high, And the sound of the thunder incessant Re-echoed the breadth of the sky. The light-hearted tars of the morning Now gloomily watching the storm Were silent, the glare from the flashes Revealing each weather-beat form, Their airy-built castles all vanished When they heard the wild conflict ahead; Their hopes of the morning were banished, And terror seemed ruling instead. They gazed on the heavens above them And then on the waters beneath, And shrunk as foreboding those billows Might shroud them ere morrow in death. . . . . .A wild cry of bitter despair Re-echoed by all in the vessel, And filling the wind-ridden air. The breakers and rocks were before them Discovered too plain to their eyes, And the heart-bursting shrieks of the hopeless Ascending were lost in the skies. Then a crash, then a moan from the dying Went on, on the wings of the gale, Soon hush’d in the roar of the waters And the tempest’s continuing wail. The “Storm Power” loudly was sounding Their funeral dirge as they passed, And the white-crested waters around them Re-echoed the voice of the blast. The surges will show to the morrow A fearful and heartrending sight, And bereaved ones will weep in their sorrow When they think of that terrible night. . . . . .Saw still’d to a slumber the deep— Not a zephyr disturbing its bosom, The winds and the breezes asleep. Again the warm sunshine was gleaming Refulgently fringing the sea, Its rays to the horizon beaming And clothing the land on the lee. The billows were silently gliding O’er the graves of the sailors beneath, The waves round the vessel yet pointing The scene of their anguish and death. They seemed to the fancy bewailing The sudden and terrible doom Of those who were yesterday singing And laughing in sight of their tomb. . . . . .The morning begins without care, Hope cheerfully points to the distance, The Future beams sunny and fair; And we—as the bark o’er the billows, Admiring the beauty of day, With Fortune all smiling around us— Glide onward our silvery way. We know not nor fear for a sorrow Ever crossing our pathway in life; We judge from to-day the to-morrow And dream not of meeting with strife. This world seems to us as an Eden And we wonder when hearing around The cries of stern pain and affliction How such an existence is found. But we find to our cost when misfortune Comes mantling our sun in its night, That the Earth was not made to be Heaven, Not always our life can be bright. In turn we see each of our day-dreams Dissolve into air and decay, And learn that the hopes that are brightest Fade soonest—far soonest away. |
These lines were written in 1857, and were suggested by the wreck
of the Dunbar, but the writer did not confine himself in particular
to a description of that disaster, as may be seen from perusal.— H.K.