ALL'S WELL.
129
Through the glass he watches the line the squall has crossed
As if no sound he heard.
As if no sound he heard.
And the Day of Doom seems come in the angry sky,
And a low roar fills the air;
In an awful stillness the dead-black waters lie,
And the rocks gleam ghastly and bare.
And a low roar fills the air;
In an awful stillness the dead-black waters lie,
And the rocks gleam ghastly and bare.
Is it a snow-white gull's wing fluttering there,
In the midst of that hush of dread?
Ah, no, 'tis the narrow strip of canvas they dare
In the face of the storm to spread.
In the midst of that hush of dread?
Ah, no, 'tis the narrow strip of canvas they dare
In the face of the storm to spread.
A moment more and all the furies are loose,
The coast line is blotted out,
The skiff is gone, the rain-cloud pours its sluice,
And she hears her father shout,
The coast line is blotted out,
The skiff is gone, the rain-cloud pours its sluice,
And she hears her father shout,
"Down with your sail!" as if through the tumult wild
And the distance, his voice might reach;
And, stunned, she clasps still closer her rosy child,
Bereft of the power of speech.
And the distance, his voice might reach;
And, stunned, she clasps still closer her rosy child,
Bereft of the power of speech.
