War Drums (Scharkie)/The Wreck of the "Maitland"

by Louis Edward Scharkie

THE WRECK OF THE "MAITLAND."

Deep in the sea, let their burial be,
Deep in the wave that they loved so well,
Deep with the barque that was dashed in the dark—
Darker than death, and as wild as hell.

Thunder and hail, and wind like a wail,
Or the pitiful sob of a dirge;
Rain from the clouds, on the foam, and the shrouds,
Hissing cold with the seethe of the surge.

"Captain" they said when the light had fled
Too soon from the storm-smitten wave,
"Wild is the sky, and the sea will run high,
And the storm might be marking our grave."

"Tut, tut," he cried, and he laughed aside,
"The wind is our music, the foam our beds;
Outward, ho!—and away we go."
And he steered, in the storm, through the gaping Heads.

On thro' the dark, flew the gallant barque,
Tossing and rolled on a raging sea;
Till the storm, at length, broke in double strength,
And the hurricane howled in horrible glee.

Seethed the froth like a demon's wrath;
Whistled and howled, the gale in the shrouds;
Whistled and screamed, like a dying fiend;
Howled and sang to the flying clouds.

Tossed, rude and rough, from the crest to the trough,
Captain! ah whither?" they cried in fear.
'God be our Guide, in this storm, o'er the tide',
And he wiped from his eyelid, a scalding tear.

"The fires are out;" then a cry and a shout
Rang high o'er the tempest's booming shocks,
For she drifted past, to the will of the blast,
Nigh the sharpened teeth of the gaping rocks.

Wan shone the light of a stormy dawn,
And the misty rains fell thick and blowy,
When the Maitland, caught in the waves she fought,
Was drifting—a wreck, off Barrenjoey.

Pale lips quivered, and cold forms shivered,
And frenzied voices rang shrill, and screaming,
Where she struck and lay, like a thing of prey
In the glutting jaws of a hungry demon.

Pallid the dawn of a stormy morn,
Shone cold and dim on crag and horn,
When a swimmer, brave, was stemming the wave,
And bearing the prayers of hearts forlorn.

For a rope he bore from the ship to the shore,
And he hauled them to land thro' a raging hell,
Till she sunk amain, and a shriek of pain
Was the requiem prelude of their farewell.

Honor his name as a knight's of fame;
As a chivalrous knight of the days gone by.
Lion-heart, brave, of the stormy wave!
Daring the billows, to do or die.

Honor the dead that lie low in their bed:
Honor the griefs that they cannot tell.
Deep in the sea let their burial be—
Deep in the wave that they loved so well.