The poems of John G. C. Brainard A new and authentic collection, with an original memoir of his life |
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| 4. | IV. |
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 | The poems of John G. C. Brainard |  |
IV.
They plunged him, when the winds were up, and whenThe sharks played round this floating home of men;
When the strained timbers groaned in every wave,
And the rough cordage screamed above his grave;
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Of darkness in the red-edged thunder cloud;
While in the dread black pauses of the storm,
The stunned ear heard his moan, the shut eye saw his form.
Had it been calm—had dolphins played in rings,
And flying fishes sunned their wetted wings;
Had the sweet south but breathed to smooth the sea,
And evening, for one hour looked tranquilly;
Or had some tomb-like iceberg floated on
The spot, as the retiring sun went down,
Or the black Peteril on mid-ocean's surge
Sung to the Albatross the poor boy's dirge,—
One might have blessed the far off, long lost spot
Where to the deepest depths he sunk and was forgot.
Silent they bore him to the vessel's side,
Silent the hammock and the rope they eyed,
With thoughtful look, a moment there they stood,
And gazed an instant on the yawning flood;
A sailor's prayer, a sailor's tear were all
They had to give him, but a sailor's pall—
They plunged him in the water, and the shark
Plunged after him, down, down, into the dark.
| The poems of John G. C. Brainard | |