“Then launched they to the blast, Bent like a reed each mast, Yet we were gaining fast, When the wind failed us; And with a sudden flaw Came round the gusty Skaw, So that our foe we saw Laugh as he hailed us. "And as to catch the gale Round veered the flapping sail, Death! was the helmsman's hail, Death without quarter ! Mid-ships with iron keel Struck we her ribs of steel; Down her black hulk did reel Through the black water! "As with his wings aslant, Sails the fierce cormorant, Seeking some rocky haunt, With his prey laden, So toward the open main, Beating to sea again, Through the wild hurricane, Bore I the maiden. "Three weeks we westward bore, And when the storm was o'er, Cloud-like we saw the shore Stretching to leeward; THE SKELETON IN ARMOUR. There for my lady's bower Built I the lofty tower, Which, to this very hour, Stands looking seaward. "There lived we many years; Time dried the maiden's tears; She had forgot her fears, She was a mother; Death closed her mild blue eyes, Under that tower she lies; Ne'er shall the sun arise On such another. "Still grew my bosom then, The sun-light hateful ! In the vast forest here, Fell I upon my spear, 66 O, death was grateful! Thus, seamed with many scars, Bursting these prison bars, Up to its native stars My soul ascended! There from the flowing bowl Deep drinks the warrior's soul, Skoul! to the Northland! skoal!"* -Thus the tale ended. 111 * In Scandanavia this is the customary salutation when drinking a health. I have slightly changed the orthography of the word, in order to preserve the correct pronunciation. IT was the schooner Hesperus, That sailed the wintry sea; And the skipper had taken his little daughter, To bear him company. Blue were her eyes as the fairy flax, Her cheeks like the dawn of day, And her bosom white as the hawthorn buds, THE WRECK OF THE HESPERUS. The skipper he stood beside the helm, His pipe was in his mouth, 113 And he watched how the veering flaw did blow Then The smoke now West, now South. up and spake an old Sailòr, Had sailed the Spanish Main, "I pray thee, put into yonder port, For I fear a hurricane. 66 Last night, the moon had a golden ring, The skipper, he blew a whiff from his pipe, Colder and louder blew the wind, The snow fell hissing in the brine, And the billows frothed like yeast. Down came the storm, and smote amain, The vessel in its strength; She shuddered and paused, like a frighted steed, Then leaped her cable's length. "Come hither! come hither! my little daughter, And do not tremble so; For I can weather the roughest gale, That ever wind did blow." He wrapped her warm in his scaman's coat He cut a rope from a broken spar, And bound her to the mast. O father! I hear the church-bells ring, say, what may it be?" "Tis a fog-bell on a rock-bound coast!"And he steered for the open sea. "O father! I hear the sound of guns, O say, what may it be?" ་་ Some ship in distress, that cannot live O father! I see a gleaming light, O say, what may it be?" A frozen corpse was he. Lashed to the helm, all stiff and stark, With his face turned to the skies, The lantern gleamed through the gleaming snow On his fixed and glassy eyes. Then the maiden clasped her hands and prayed That saved she might be; And she thought of Christ, who stilled the wave, On the Lake of Galilee. |