 | Poems of "Frank Forester" (Henry William Herbert) |  |
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THE WRECK.
I.
With the bellying arch of her white sail set,To the fresh breeze bending low,
Dashing the spray like a fountain's jet
In diamonds from her bow,
Outspeeding the waves in her murmuring pride,
And the spice-wind's balmy sigh,
Like a swallow in air, or a swan on the tide,
The good ship glided by.
II.
The Indian sun was blazing brightIn the cloudless, tropic sky,
And the sea like a mirror of azure light
Glowed to its canopy.
The shark shot by, and the nautilus shell
By its fairy mariner driven;
And the flying-fish glanced from the liquid swell
Like a star from the vaulted heaven.
III.
The surface is tranquil and clear as glass,And the eye dives deeply through
To the sparkling gems, and the ocean's grass,
And the corals of crimson hue;
To the fry that sprang from their sea-weed lair
At the changeful dolphin's stroke:
But of all the wonders that glittered there,
Not a sign of peril spoke.
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IV.
The hurricane slept in its sultry shrine,And hushed was the surge's moan,
And the soundings were deep in the measured brine,
Full forty fathom down.
Five hundred hearts beat proud and fast
On the frigate's stainless deck;
Five hundred hearts, that had dared the blast,
Or the battle, their pulse to check.
V.
The helmsman was still at his steady wheel,And the watch at their stations round,
And the officers leaned on the lazy steel
That had flashed at the bugle's sound.
Not a bosom was there that dreamed how nigh
Was the viewless angel's rod,
Nor shuddered to think that ere day should die
He must reckon with his God.
VI.
Like a swallow in air, or a swan on the tide,The good ship rode the wave;
And little they deemed in their manhood's pride
She was hurrying to her grave.
With a shivering crash, and a sullen shock,
Stopped short in winged career,
For an instant she clung to fatal rock,
Then plunged through the waters clear.
VII.
Not a second was granted for thought or prayer,Not a second to struggle for life;
Not a glimpse of fond memory was hovering there
In the spirit's parting strife.
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Nor the love that is strong in death:
It was but an instant from first to last,
And sound there was none, nor breath.
VIII.
The waters were clear as they were before,And the gales as balmy blew;
But where are the hearts that rejoiced in their roar,
And the ship that before them flew?
She was here but now, like a wingèd sprite
Upborne on the sunbright air:
Where is she now, with her pinions of light?
The wild waves answer, Where?
| Poems of "Frank Forester" (Henry William Herbert) | |