Rocking on an angry ocean.

Throng the spirits of the storm:

Bends each gaunt and ghastly form.

Dumbly yields, and fights no more;

Headlong on the fatal shore.

With a low and sullen shock,

[Pg 50]

Full upon a sunken rock.

Like a ghost, so cold and white;

Gazing through the gathered night.

Where a mocking ghostly hand

Glimmering from the distant land?

Hearth and home and wife and child?

Clung to him and wept and smiled?

To her tomb beneath the wave:

Not a hand stretched out to save?

[Pg 51]

Watching death with eyes that burn!

Ere her waking sense return.

Hush’d is that bitter cry of pain:

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