SHIPWRECK.
17
SHIPWRECK.
A long, low reach of level sand, Packed erewhile by the maddened wavesAs the storm-wind drove them toward the land:— A boat on the shore, and nothing more,Tells of the dead who sank to their graves To the sound of the wild sea's roar.
The ship went down at night they say, Wrestling with winds and waves to the last,—Like a great sea-monster fighting at bay. The fisherman tells how he heard the bellsRing in the lulls of the pitiless blast, Mingled with wild farewells.
The winds are asleep and the sea is still, Still as the wrecked beneath its waves—Dreamless of all life's good or ill. A boat on the shore and nothing moreTells of the dead who sank to their graves To the sound of the wild sea's roar!
GRANT.
Silent some call thee: haply it were well If they who name thee so could earn a fame For deeds not words as thou hast. 'Twere the sameWert thou as clamorous as a new-swung bell: The carping malcontents would still cry blame.
The nation trusted thee when sore beset, Battling for life against her recreant foes; She placed thee where thou art, when came reposeAnd the sheathed sword,—and she will trust thee yet. Noiseless the mighty stream resistless flows,Whilst shallow brooklets o'er their pebbles fret.
