European Elegies/Autumn (1)/The storm
22.THE STORM
Rent sail and rudder, roar of wind and wave,Outcry of stricken crew, and spent pump's groan:The last worn cable severs with a moan,The wild sun sinks in blood, and naught can save.
The tempest howls in triumph; on the deckGrey shapeless breakers raise appalling crests,And Death's grey spirit the doomed ship investsLike soldiers storming through a breached wall's wreck.
Some sailors lie half-dead, inert with fear;Some cross themselves and take a last embrace;Some pray, that their last words may conquer death.
But one, a traveller, sits in silence nearAnd thinks: "How happy he who faints, or prays,Or bids a friend farewell with pious breath!"
From the Polish of Adam Mickiewicz.