168
THE SAILOR'S WIFE.
"See! The good ship yields at last!
Dumbly yields, and fights no more;
Driving in the frantic blast
Headlong on the fatal shore.
"Hark! I hear her battered side,
With a low and sullen shock,
Dashed amid the foaming tide
Full upon a sunken rock.
"His face shines out against the sky,
Like a ghost, so cold and white;
With a dead despairing eye
Gazing through the gathered night.
"Is he watching, through the dark,
Where a mocking ghostly hand
Points to yonder feeble spark
Glimmering from the distant land?
