Poems (Hoffman)/The Lady of the Wreck
THE LADY OF THE WRECK
Clear and bright was the liquid depthWhere a beautiful Brazilian barqueIn the bosom of grim old ocean sleptWith the shades beneath, it green and dark.
Two divers stood on the ruined deckWhile the tropic sunbeams overheadO'er the princely form of the silent wreckTheir tints of dazzling beauty shed.
Half embedded, in yellow sandAnd broken coral, the vessel lay;While a halo of rainbow color spannedThe broken toy of the breaker's play.
The divers halted a moment thereTo gaze on the strange and lovely scene,Before them—the vessel weirdly fair,Around them—the water's crystal sheen.
Never in all their strange careerHad they made their dangerous deep descentTo a sea so beautiful, bright and clear,Where the vessel lay all torn and spent.
As they stood entranced, a comrade approachedAnd beckoning, led the way beforeWhere the clear bright waters on all encroached,'Till they halted before a cabin door;
Slightly ajar it stood, at their touchSwinging back, to their eyes disclosedA sight that held each enchanted, suchWas the heavenly vision that there reposed.
The heavy mahogany furniture stoodEach piece in its own appointed place,Unmoved by the strong intruding floodThat pressed its way into every place;
In the upper berth of the cabin layA fair young lady, as if she slept,From her brow the dark hair swept awayLike seaweed strands, in the glistening depth.
'Round her a gaily hued wrap was flungHeavily, carelessly, as in mirth,And one little jeweled hand was hungOver the side of the upper berth.
Over her beautiful oval face,Perfect in womanhood's early dawn,And the dark brow's peaceful, pensive graceWas left no sign that life was gone.
Dreamily the closed lids reposedTheir silken fringe on the rounded cheek,Scarce had one started, had they unclosedAnd the child-like lips have moved to speak;
And the crimson curtain drawn asideThe rings of its silver rod below, (As if the fair vision loath to hide)Cast into the berth its roseate glow.
Over two months had she slumbered there,By that sea-water clear and cold embalmed;Yet it seemed that the soul of that temple fairWas only that morn by death's angel calmed.
The divers gazed on the scene impressedWith its solemn beauty, then went their way—Softly, as not to disturb her rest,For death seemed robbed of half his prey.
They were rude, unscrupulous, fearless menThese daring wrestlers who challenge the deep,In ghastly scenes had they often beenWhere silent sentinels vigil keep.
They plundered the beautiful barque (nor spake)Embedded in coral and yellow sand,But not one among them approached to takeThe sparkling rings from the little hand.
In a few short weeks her lover soughtThe deep sea-grave of his promised bride,Their anchor they cast at the self-same spotIn the diver's armor he braved the tide—
Through the crystal waters he saw the wreckLit up with its dazzling tints as before,He passed o'er the ruined sand-strewn deckAnd followed the guide to the cabin door;
And there on her peaceful couch beheldHis promised bride in her watery tomb,Ah! who can guess what emotion swelledHis heart, as he stood in that sea-lit room?
And they left her there, it were better so,Sweetly to sleep in that upper berth,In the crimson curtain's roseate glow,Too fair for the dread decay of earth.
With her long dark hair on the wave afloatLike seaweed strands on the waters flung,Or clinging close to her fair white throat,And one little hand o'er her high couch hung.
Then close the door gently, disturb her not,And softly pass o'er the ruined deck;No evil profanes the enchanted spotWhere sleepeth the lady of the wreck.