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214
WRECK OF THE STEAM-SHIP THE “PRESIDENT.”
There were aching hearts in England,
Sad watchings through the day,
For a noble ship, the President,
Upon her homeward way,
'Midst the wild Atlantic waters
The stormy ocean's prey!—
Sad watchings through the day,
For a noble ship, the President,
Upon her homeward way,
'Midst the wild Atlantic waters
The stormy ocean's prey!—
There were manly forms and daring
Within that stately bark;
And many a bosom beautiful
That Love had made its ark;
And lips that bloomed—'till tempest gloomed—
And struck their beauty dark!—
Within that stately bark;
And many a bosom beautiful
That Love had made its ark;
And lips that bloomed—'till tempest gloomed—
And struck their beauty dark!—
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Where the gulph-stream meets the soundings
With long terrific roar,
The ship was seen contending
The blast and billows o'er;—
But never human sight beheld
That fated vessel more!
With long terrific roar,
The ship was seen contending
The blast and billows o'er;—
But never human sight beheld
That fated vessel more!
From out the topmost beacon,
Through weary day and night,
The hardy watchmen steadily
Gaz'd o'er the billows' flight;
But not a wreck of mast or deck
Swept ever on their sight.
Through weary day and night,
The hardy watchmen steadily
Gaz'd o'er the billows' flight;
But not a wreck of mast or deck
Swept ever on their sight.
Upon that sea of sorrow
How many thoughts were tost!—
When, like a weary mariner,
Hope o'er those waters crost,
And left the heart to bear its part,
Or break—when all was lost!—
How many thoughts were tost!—
When, like a weary mariner,
Hope o'er those waters crost,
And left the heart to bear its part,
Or break—when all was lost!—
216
No tongue may herald tidings,
No human science show
That awful page of destiny,
That record dark of woe—
Engulf'd 'midst ocean's secrets
Ten thousand fathom low!—
No human science show
That awful page of destiny,
That record dark of woe—
Engulf'd 'midst ocean's secrets
Ten thousand fathom low!—
Yet shall the stars, thou Ocean,
Their dying lustre shed;
Thy waves' expiring motion
Dry o'er their charnel-bed;
And Time yet see the mystery,
Incarnate with the dead.
Their dying lustre shed;
Thy waves' expiring motion
Dry o'er their charnel-bed;
And Time yet see the mystery,
Incarnate with the dead.
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