The Poetical Works of George Barlow In Ten [Eleven] Volumes |
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| II. |
| III. |
| IV. |
| V. |
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| II. |
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| III. |
| IV. |
| V. |
| VI. |
| VII. | VII. THE GHOST AT THE WHEEL
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| IX. |
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| XI. |
| XII. |
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| XI. |
 | The Poetical Works of George Barlow |  |
263
VII. THE GHOST AT THE WHEEL
Off Beachy Head the vessel wrestles hard:
In vain the captain's eyes would pierce the gloom.
The great grim cliffs, foam-belted, iron-barred,
Through the wild wreaths of scudding sea-fog loom.
No stars shine out.
Put helm about?
Nay! this one ship will hold her lonely way!
Though death be near,
Her captain's deaf to fear:
His voice out-thunders wind and hissing spray.
In vain the captain's eyes would pierce the gloom.
The great grim cliffs, foam-belted, iron-barred,
Through the wild wreaths of scudding sea-fog loom.
No stars shine out.
Put helm about?
Nay! this one ship will hold her lonely way!
Though death be near,
Her captain's deaf to fear:
His voice out-thunders wind and hissing spray.
Yet at the rudder, see this lurid light!
A form takes shape amid the wind and spray:
A white face glitters through the jet-black night.
Why falls the captain on his knees to pray?
His brother's form
Shines through the storm,
His brother drowned where these same mad waves flow
Round Beachy Head:
The strong man shakes in dread:
When dead men steer, where will the doomed ship go?
A form takes shape amid the wind and spray:
A white face glitters through the jet-black night.
Why falls the captain on his knees to pray?
His brother's form
Shines through the storm,
264
Round Beachy Head:
The strong man shakes in dread:
When dead men steer, where will the doomed ship go?
The dead man steered. The labouring ship veered round.
The awe-struck sailors watched without a word.
The waves and threatening thunder ceased to sound:
You might have caught the carol of a bird.
Then slowly grew
The sky pale-blue;
Morn showed that when the spectre took command,
Ten yards away
Were deadly reefs and spray:
Love outlasts death, and aids with living hand.
The awe-struck sailors watched without a word.
The waves and threatening thunder ceased to sound:
You might have caught the carol of a bird.
Then slowly grew
The sky pale-blue;
Morn showed that when the spectre took command,
Ten yards away
Were deadly reefs and spray:
Love outlasts death, and aids with living hand.
| The Poetical Works of George Barlow | |