THE SAILOR'S WIFE.
167
The storm-wind, rushing through the sky,
Wails from the depths of cloudy space;
Shrill, piercing as the seaman's cry
When Death and he are face to face.
Familiar tones are in the gale;
They ring upon her startled ear:
And quick and low she pants the tale
That tells of agony and fear:
"Still that phantom-ship is nigh—
With a vexed and life-like motion,
All beneath an angry sky,
Rocking on an angry ocean.
"Round the straining mast and shrouds
Throng the spirits of the storm;
Darkly seen through driving clouds,
Bends each gaunt and ghastly form.
