WRECKED. 85
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For here an evil, cruel fate Had taken from him wind and tide, Deprived him of his needful crew ; Far better with them to have died, Than live beneath this sky so blue, Despairing, helpless, desolate.
'List ! what was that? Was it a breeze That rustled yonder drooping sail? Again ! — and now with eager hands, The captain works, and Hope commands. All sails are spread, nor does he fail To place a signal, mast-head high, For help, should others passing by, See him afloat upon the seas. From out the sepulchre of death — Which, greedy of the lives of men, Devoured with pestilential breath His comrades — slowly o'er the waves The good ship moves, and at the wheel The captain seems to see again, Kind Hope, to guide his vessel's keel, Where aid, both man and ship, shall save.
But see ! the western sky reveals Swift clouds, which toward the zenith fly In masses, purple, black and gray, As if to shut the light of day Forevermore, from earth and sky. The breeze increases, and its might, The ship with dauntless vigor feels ; Faster she speeds upon her way, Behind, the storm; before, the night.
A roar, a peal, and, from the clouds, The tempest pours its fury down ; The leaping waves the fierce winds lash, 'Mid thunder-bolts which flash and crash, Then darkness, like Jove's wrathful frown, The fated, storm-tossed ship enshrouds. Her sails are scattered far and near, But on she leaps from wave to wave, While at the wheel, with desperate grasp, Stands one, unmoved by hope or fear, Who waits until an icy clasp Shall bear him to a sailor's grave.
He looks straight onward ; on and on The ship is driving, and the surge Of mighty billows mocks the strength Put forth in vain, till Fate, at length, Decides the struggle and their doom. Overwhelmed, engulphed, enwrapped in gloom, Down to the depths the ship has gone, The roar of winds and waves its dirge.
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