Poems (Carmichael)/The Wrecked

by Sarah Elizabeth Carmichael

THE WRECKED.

The sun went down as gorgeously,  Wrapped in his crimson vest, As though the lamps of night were placed  As watchers o'er his rest; But with the shades of midnight came  The storm-king's clarion blast, And tempests gathered at his call,  And whirlwinds hurried past. There was a sound of rushing winds,  A sound of hastening waves—Strong waters stretched their arms to snatch  Bright spoils from ocean's caves; Then came the crash!—the long, wild shriek!—The dash of waves on the white cheek—The aimless clutch—the smothered prayer!—And wild winds sung a requiem there.

The morning woke, serene and bright;  The sunlight on the deep Dwelt, like a smile upon the lip  Of innocence asleep; The light winged zephyrs gently swept  Sweet breathings o'er the sea So lately parted by the strong  Wild plunge of agony; But the lone sea bird flapped his wings  Above the laughing wave, And screamed forth tales of tempest doom— Death, and an ocean grave; Of trembling hands, outstretched to hold The shuddering heart from waters cold—The dizzy brain and shivering breath, When frenzied horror strove with death.

But all are sleeping calmly now— The coward and the brave, The earth-stained and the beautiful,  All shrouded' by the wave. What forms of breathing loveliness,  What hearts of throbbing worth Were laid in those cold depths, to leave  Grief-darkened homes for earth. Ah, me!—but wherefore do we twine  Soul fibers round the dead— Why hoard the casket, when we know  The precious jewel fled? Oh! why o'er broken life-threads weep? Save tears—hot tears—for those who steep Their souls in crime's waves, dark and red; These are the lost, the wrecked, the dead!