Pages 36-38
THE WRECK.
BY MRS. HEMANS.
Her sails are draggled in the brine.
That gladdened late the skies;
And her pennon, that kissed the fair moonshine,
Down man; a fathom lies.
Wilson
I.
All night the booming minute-gun
Had pealed along the deep,
And mournfully the rising sun
Looked o'er the tide-worn steep.
A bark, from India's coral strand,
Before the rushing blast,
Had vailed her topsails to the sand,
And bowed her noble mast.
II.
The queenly ship!—brave hearts had striven,
And true ones died with her!
We saw her mighty cable riven,
Like floating gossamer!
We saw her proud flag struck that morn,
A star once o'er the seas,
Her helm beat down, her deck uptorn,—
And sadder things than these!
