Fugitive Poetry. 1600–1878/Shipwreck of the "Abeona"

Shipwreck of the Abeona.

The good ship Abeona Unreefs her flapping sail;And many a heart is aching, And many a cheek is pale.

And now she weighs her anchor, And now she cuts the wave;O dismal was the parting, And faint the shout they gave.

"Art thou, too, sad and weeping, But yesterday a bride?Cheer up, my bonny Mary, 'Tis William by thy side!

"Fear not yon foreign country, He'll shield thee from alarms;Fear not the tossing billows, Thou'rt safe within his arms!

"I know thou'st left a mother, But she has bairns beside,Who'll cheer her, while thy William Shall cheer his bonny bride."

Now swift across the ocean, The good ship heaves her way,Divides the dashing billows, And tosses high the spray.

Long since to merry Scotland They've sighed their last adieu;Even Europe's shores receding Have faded from their view.

Beneath—around—above them, Are the ocean and the sky;God shield the lonely vessel From any danger nigh!

"How swift we sail, my William! How cool's this evening breeze;How could I fear with thee, love, To brave the roaring seas!"

Now Mary smiles at danger, Heeds not the tossing wave,But views with hope yon country, Where the treasures she will save

Shall take her home to Scotland, There in comfort to abide,And long to bless the hour, love Had made her William's bride.

But see! 'tis smoke ascending, Thick rolling from below!And, oh! this burning heat too! And hark! those shrieks of woe!

See! the crew on deck all rushing! Great heaven! the flames pursue!"O save me, save me, William! Save thy Mary fond and true!"

Who shall paint the scene of horror? Not a hope beyond the skies!Like lightning to the mast-heads The crackling flames arise!

They rise, and rage, and widen— Hark the shriek of wild despair,The cry of bitter anguish, The agony of prayer!

The boats!—too soon they're crowded, Every mother, frantic, wild,Forgetting self in danger, Thinks only of her child!

Now God have mercy on you, O! hapless orphan crew!See their little arms extended! See, they weep their last adieu.

God have mercy on you, mothers! For slow they raise the oar;Slow, sad, they strike the billows— Ye will see your babes no more!

The crackling, blazing timbers Crashing fall from side to side,All around—the flames devouring, All below—the rushing tide.

"O William, hope is over, Thou canst swim—I do not fear.""What, leave thee, Mary? Never! Cling closer to me, dear.

"We'll trust the wave together, Together live or die;Oh, Mary, fear not danger, For still thy William's nigh!"

They plunge—and long does William Throw aside the dashing wave,Love and hope his arm have nerved, And the boat is nigh to save.

Now nearer yet, and nearer— Almost he grasps the oar;Another stroke—but William Can stem the wave no more!

"O Mary," faint he whispers, "Pray to Him who sits above—Thou dost—oh yes—together— Together yet, my love!"

They sink—the roaring billow Sweeps in thunder o'er their head—But Thou wilt not forget them When the "sea gives up her dead."