Poems (Thaxter)/The Spaniards' Graves
THE SPANIARDS' GRAVES
AT THE ISLES OF SHOALS.
O Sailors, did sweet eyes look after you The day you sailed away from sunny Spain?Bright eyes that followed fading ship and crew, Melting in tender rain?
Did no one dream of that drear night to be, Wild with the wind, fierce with the stinging snow,When on yon granite point that frets the sea, The ship met her death-blow?
Fifty long years ago these sailors died: (None know how many sleep beneath the waves:)Fourteen gray head-stones, rising side by side, Point out their nameless graves,—
Lonely, unknown, deserted, but for me, And the wild birds that flit with mournful cry,And sadder winds, and voices of the sea That moans perpetually.'
Wives, mothers, maidens, wistfully, in vain Questioned the distance for the yearning sail,That, leaning landward, should have stretched again White arms wide on the gale,
To bring back their beloved. Year by year, Weary they watched, till youth and beauty passed,And lustrous eyes grew dim and age grew near, And hope was dead at last.
Still summer broods o'er that delicious land, Rich, fragrant, warm with skies of golden glow:Live any yet of that forsaken band Who loved so long ago?
O Spanish women, over the far seas, Could I but show you where your dead reposeCould I send tidings on this northern breeze That strong and steady blows!
Dear dark-eyed sisters, you remember yet These you have lost, but you can never knowOne stands at their bleak graves whose eyes are wet With thinking of your woe!