And when I did descend again, Through the night, through the night, Where the sea lifts the wreck, Land in sight, close in sight, On the surf-flooded deck Stands the father so brave, Driving on to his grave Through the night! RICHARD HENRY STODDAED. XIV. It might be months, or years, or days— And clear them of their dreary mote; I asked not why, and recked not where; It was at length the same to me, Fettered or fetterless to be; I learned to love despair. And thus, when they appeared at last, THE SEA. LORD BYRON. THROUGH the night, through the night, With her babe on her breast, Through the night! THE KING OF DENMARK'S RIDE. WORD was brought to the Danish king (Hurry!) That the love of his heart lay suffering, And pined for the comfort his voice would bring; (O! ride as though you were flying!) Better he loves each golden curl On the brow of that Scandinavian girl Than his rich crown jewels of ruby and pearl: And his Rose of the Isles is dying! Thirty nobles saddled with speed; (Hurry!) Each one mounting a gallant steed (O! ride as though you were flying!) Spurs were struck in the foaming flank; Worn-out chargers staggered and sank; Bridles were slackened, and girths were bursts; But ride as they would, the king rode first, For his Rose of the Isles lay dying! His nobles are beaten, one by one; (Hurry!) They have fainted, and faltered, and homeward gone; His little fair page now follows alone, For strength and for courage trying! The king looked back at that faithful child; Wan was the face that answering smiled; They passed the drawbridge with clattering din, Then he dropped; and only the king rode in Where his Rose of the Isles lay dying! The king blew a blast on his bugle horn; No answer came; but faint and forlorn THE WRECK OF THE HESPERUS. Quoth Sir Ralph, "The next who comes to Then up and spake an old sailor. 481 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; He wrapped her warm in his seaman's coat He cut a rope from a broken spar, "O father! I hear the church-bells ring; O say, what may it be?" "'T is 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 In such an angry sea!" "O father! I see a gleaming light; O say, what may it be?" But the father answered never a word 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. And fast through the midnight dark and drear, Through the whistling sleet and snow, Like a sheeted ghost, the vessel swept Towards the reef of Norman's Woe. And ever, the fitful gusts between, A sound came from the land; It was the sound of the trampling surf On the rocks and the hard sea-sand. The breakers were right beneath her bows; And a whooping billow swept the crew, She struck where the white and fleecy waves But the cruel rocks they gored her side Like the horns of an angry bull. Her rattling shrouds, all sheathed in ice, With the mast went by the board; Like a vessel of glass, she stove and sank— Ho! ho! the breakers roared! At daybreak, on the bleak sea-beach, To see the form of a maiden fair, The salt sea was frozen on her breast, And he saw her hair, like the brown sea-weed, Such was the wreck of the Hesperus, THE MARINER'S DREAM. IN slumbers of midnight the sailor boy lay; His hammock swung loose at the sport of the wind; But watch-worn and weary, his cares flew away, And visions of happiness danced o'er his mind. He dreamt of his home, of his dear native bowers, And pleasures that waited on life's merry morn; While memory stood sideways half covered with flowers, And restored every rose, but secreted its thorn. Then Fancy her magical pinions spread wide, And bade the young dreamer in ecstasy rise; Now far, far behind him the green waters glide, And the cot of his forefathers blesses his eyes. The jessamine clambers in flowers o'er the thatch, And the swallow chirps sweet from her nest in the wall; All trembling with transport, he raises the latch, And the voices of loved ones reply to his call. A father bends o'er him with looks of delight; His cheek is impearled with a mother's warm tear; And the lips of the boy in a love-kiss unite With the lips of the maid whom his bosom holds dear. The heart of the sleeper beats high in his breast; Joy quickens his pulses his hardships seem o'er; |