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(THE GHOST OF SABLE ISLAND.)
When the storm flies, with its black wings waving,
And dropping their quills of fire in the surf at Sable Island,
When the air and sea and the black shore are raving,
And the cloud-mountains shake from valley to highland,
When the petrel a duet with the mad gale is singing,
When all the drum-corps of the sky their thunder-clubs are swinging,
Or every wave is a torch by Phosphor's flame ignited,
And even the sunless sky with blazing water is lighted,
And dropping their quills of fire in the surf at Sable Island,
When the air and sea and the black shore are raving,
And the cloud-mountains shake from valley to highland,
When the petrel a duet with the mad gale is singing,
When all the drum-corps of the sky their thunder-clubs are swinging,
Or every wave is a torch by Phosphor's flame ignited,
And even the sunless sky with blazing water is lighted,
Then whirling keys of billows open the sand-hill doors,
And out of their gloomy halls come skeletons bleached and gray,
Of men and women who voyaged from smiling, green-dressed shores,
Out to the hurricane-country—straight to the death-strewn bay.
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Of men and women who voyaged from smiling, green-dressed shores,
Out to the hurricane-country—straight to the death-strewn bay.
Look!—in the sea again, this good ship is sailing!
Not with banners of canvas, and flags on the breezes trailing;
But one by one its timbers are into the foam alighting;
The angry waves each other with wrecks of a wreck are fighting.
Not with banners of canvas, and flags on the breezes trailing;
But one by one its timbers are into the foam alighting;
The angry waves each other with wrecks of a wreck are fighting.
See!—on the drowning beach, a ghost comes drearily walking—
Pacing on sand or sea full many a desolate rod:
Eastward a moment he gazes; now the white lips are talking!
He looks straight into the tempest and tells his story to God.
Pacing on sand or sea full many a desolate rod:
Eastward a moment he gazes; now the white lips are talking!
He looks straight into the tempest and tells his story to God.
He says, “The King loved my wife, in an unkingly fashion;
What was our heart-caress, to his mad, bestial passion?
He had but to raise his finger, and I was a felon at best,
And she a creature of shame, with heart torn out of her breast.
What was our heart-caress, to his mad, bestial passion?
He had but to raise his finger, and I was a felon at best,
And she a creature of shame, with heart torn out of her breast.
“He threw me toward this sunset—a dreary island's slave—
With a band of robbers and thieves, into this wave-drenched cell;
Told me, if I must love, to fall in love with the grave;
Cast me out of Heaven, into a wave-washed hell.
Her spirit flung its arms—its white arms—to me;
I heard her crying at night, above the sobs of the sea.
‘Help!’ it cried: ‘help!’ but what could that mean,
With all the ocean's width, and a king's lust, between?
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Told me, if I must love, to fall in love with the grave;
Cast me out of Heaven, into a wave-washed hell.
Her spirit flung its arms—its white arms—to me;
I heard her crying at night, above the sobs of the sea.
‘Help!’ it cried: ‘help!’ but what could that mean,
With all the ocean's width, and a king's lust, between?
“I knew what day she died; for her pure spirit came,
Womanly every gesture—sweet and angel-faced;
It loved me and caressed me—then shrunk, with a look of shame,
And fled toward where the body lay ruined and disgraced.
‘Help!’ through the distance she cried: ‘husband, avenge my wrong!’—
But what could I do, O God! my ocean-fetters were strong.
What can bodies do, 'gainst earth, and air, and sky,
And enemies in triumph?—they can do one thing: they can die.
Womanly every gesture—sweet and angel-faced;
It loved me and caressed me—then shrunk, with a look of shame,
And fled toward where the body lay ruined and disgraced.
‘Help!’ through the distance she cried: ‘husband, avenge my wrong!’—
But what could I do, O God! my ocean-fetters were strong.
What can bodies do, 'gainst earth, and air, and sky,
And enemies in triumph?—they can do one thing: they can die.
“But Death was not a release: for through the groaning water,
A peasant's spirit swam, like the ghost of a shark, to me:
‘Curses on you,’ he cried: ‘you slayer of my daughter!
Back, you hound, to your kennel by the edge of the treacherous sea!
You an avenger of virtue!—creep to your slimy hole!
The King killed your wife's body—you killed my daughter's soul!
Woman is woman, whether the kin of lords or churls;
Crime is but crime in Ghost-land—Death has nor dukes nor earls!’
A peasant's spirit swam, like the ghost of a shark, to me:
‘Curses on you,’ he cried: ‘you slayer of my daughter!
Back, you hound, to your kennel by the edge of the treacherous sea!
You an avenger of virtue!—creep to your slimy hole!
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Woman is woman, whether the kin of lords or churls;
Crime is but crime in Ghost-land—Death has nor dukes nor earls!’
“Then my sins weighed like iron—and they crushed me back—
Crushed me back, O God, as my body was crushed in life;
And the King's ghost—I cannot, I dare not, follow its track;
I cannot harass my foe, or haste to comfort my wife.
And her soft wail, it travels through sun or stormy weather;
We are more than oceans apart—O bring us, once, God, together!
For long I have walked this black beach, and heard the ocean tell
That Heaven is never defrauded, and sin itself is Hell.”
Crushed me back, O God, as my body was crushed in life;
And the King's ghost—I cannot, I dare not, follow its track;
I cannot harass my foe, or haste to comfort my wife.
And her soft wail, it travels through sun or stormy weather;
We are more than oceans apart—O bring us, once, God, together!
For long I have walked this black beach, and heard the ocean tell
That Heaven is never defrauded, and sin itself is Hell.”
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