84 WRECKED.
��W BECKED.
��BY WILL E. WALKER.
��Alone, the last of all his crew, The captain stands upon the deck Of his staunch ship that hides, within Her hold, the treasure which has been The goal and prize he sought ; at last Through months of danger, toil, and eare T Had reached and won. Yet well he knew How much 'twas still exposed to wreck, From ocean's hidden caverns, vast, From Death's foul minions, yet unpassecl T Around him in the poisonous air.
A gleaming sunset throws its rays Aslant the ship, so long becalmed ; Unruffled, lies. the treacherous sea, As if upon its breast, unharmed, The smallest boat might pass its days, Nor dream that storms might ever be. The heaven above is cloudless, bright With splendor of a tropic sky, As to her palace in the West, Fair Vesper leads the day to rest, While from the East the shades of nighi Steal o'er the waters silently.
Alone, with stern and haggard face.
The captain stands, and ponders well
His fate : if Death may yet be braved,
If he may yet his story tell
To those who wait him : and if, saved,
His treasure shall make glad their life.
Or must he in the resting-place
Where lies his crew, give up the strife?
Or find that all the wealth he grasped,
Was soon to be as worthless dust ;
And Hope, a phantom — sought, and clasped,
And gone? Could such a doom be just?
Oft', dreaming in his toil, he seemed Again within his far-off home, He felt the land-breeze on his cheek, He saw the ocean break in foam Upon the pleasant well-known beach, And held those dear ones in his arms, Who now were far beyond his reach, And who, perchance, in vain must seek For him who thus had toiled and dreamed.
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