 | [Poems by Clark in] The religious souvenir for MDCCCXXXVII |  |
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THE SHIPWRECKED SAILOR BOY RELATING HIS STORY.
Child of the Ocean! thou comest to tell
Of the dangers that thee and thy bark befel:
Of the wild tornado's awful sweep,
Whose rude voice wailed o'er the shadowy deep.
Thou comest to speak of the turbulent wave—
Of thy joyful escape from a yawning grave:
Thy lip is parched, and thy cheek is pale—
Sailor boy, sailor boy! tell us thy tale!
Of the dangers that thee and thy bark befel:
Of the wild tornado's awful sweep,
Whose rude voice wailed o'er the shadowy deep.
Thou comest to speak of the turbulent wave—
Of thy joyful escape from a yawning grave:
Thy lip is parched, and thy cheek is pale—
Sailor boy, sailor boy! tell us thy tale!
“I come, with the sea-foam yet salt on my brow,
From the desolate deck, and the broken prow:
In my ear is the creak of the shivered mast,
And the sail's shrill quiver, when torn by the blast:
The shrieks of the dying my heart impress,
Sent up through the midnight loneliness:—
I feel the rush of the mountain surge,
Whence the hands of the sinking in vain emerge.
From the desolate deck, and the broken prow:
In my ear is the creak of the shivered mast,
And the sail's shrill quiver, when torn by the blast:
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Sent up through the midnight loneliness:—
I feel the rush of the mountain surge,
Whence the hands of the sinking in vain emerge.
“I come from yon restless and bounding main,
From a scene of death, of despair, and pain;
I have seen true hearts in the wave go down,
Richer than jewels of high renown;
Richer, in love, than the sea-washed gold,
Where the coral shines over wealth untold:
Where the pearl and the ruby unvalued lie,
Shut, by the deep, from the glorious sky.
From a scene of death, of despair, and pain;
I have seen true hearts in the wave go down,
Richer than jewels of high renown;
Richer, in love, than the sea-washed gold,
Where the coral shines over wealth untold:
Where the pearl and the ruby unvalued lie,
Shut, by the deep, from the glorious sky.
“One evening, the sun, in the ominous West,
Sank in blood-red clouds to his place of rest:
His pavilion around him was crimson and black,
Where the lightnings ran in their fiery track;
There were lurid shadows along the deep,
Where the winds had folded their wings to sleep—
And the calm which engenders the storm was there,
Heavy and thick in the motionless air.
Sank in blood-red clouds to his place of rest:
His pavilion around him was crimson and black,
Where the lightnings ran in their fiery track;
There were lurid shadows along the deep,
Where the winds had folded their wings to sleep—
And the calm which engenders the storm was there,
Heavy and thick in the motionless air.
“Then came the tempest!—and piping loud,
The hurricane howled in the ragged shroud—
The mast like a reed by its force was bent,
As through gloom and darkness we onward went—
The dash of the billows, the shrieks of fear,
The prayers of the lost ones yet haunt mine ear—
But they passed away, like a zephyr's breath,
To the still and remorseless caves of death.
The hurricane howled in the ragged shroud—
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As through gloom and darkness we onward went—
The dash of the billows, the shrieks of fear,
The prayers of the lost ones yet haunt mine ear—
But they passed away, like a zephyr's breath,
To the still and remorseless caves of death.
“Morn came at last—and ye see the wreck,
In the hazy distance a desolate speck;
There the sign of distress has been hung and lost,
And hands toward Heaven imploringly toss'd;
And the God who heareth and answereth prayer,
Hushed the angry waters that bounded there;
Yet destruction to all but me befel—
I alone am left, the sad tale to tell!”
In the hazy distance a desolate speck;
There the sign of distress has been hung and lost,
And hands toward Heaven imploringly toss'd;
And the God who heareth and answereth prayer,
Hushed the angry waters that bounded there;
Yet destruction to all but me befel—
I alone am left, the sad tale to tell!”
Philadelphia.
| [Poems by Clark in] The religious souvenir for MDCCCXXXVII | |