168
LINES WRITTEN ON A STORMY NIGHT. 1813
Wild o'er the hollow-groaning main Flies furious the Spirit of the storm;Tempests and howling blasts compose his hideous train, And clouds of darkness wrap his giant form.
The billows heaving to the skies, Then tumbling low as many fathoms deep—Mix'd with the horrid roar the drowning seaman's cries, As down he sinks to everlasting sleep!
Be still, my heart,—methinks I hear The shriek of anguish on the moaning gale;And frightful, dismal scenes of pain and death appear, Struggles for parting life, and breathless corses pale!
Oh! wretched she, whose arms no more Shall clasp her son—oh! more than wretched wife,That widow'd long shalt live in anguish to deplore The fate of him far dearer than thy life!
Ye lovely babes! now wrapp'd in sleep, Peaceful and calm, while howls the passing storm!Ah! little do ye dream that the tempestuous deep, Rolls o'er your late fond father's lifeless form.
