 | Orta-undis, and other poems |  |
85
A WRECK.
When the lost Atlantic, drifted
Shoreward, in the surges rolled,
By each wave successive lifted,
Slowly tolled
From the wreck a bell resounding
Solemnly across that sounding,
Where lay corpses manifold.
Shoreward, in the surges rolled,
By each wave successive lifted,
Slowly tolled
From the wreck a bell resounding
Solemnly across that sounding,
Where lay corpses manifold.
So, when wrecked are my desires
On the everlasting Never,
And my heart, with all its fires,
Out forever,
These fond words, with sad vibration
O'er your bosom's desolation
Will lament the dead forever.
On the everlasting Never,
And my heart, with all its fires,
Out forever,
These fond words, with sad vibration
O'er your bosom's desolation
Will lament the dead forever.
1847.
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