Pocahontas and Other Poems (New York)/The Shipwreck
THE SHIPWRECK.
The good ship on the iceberg struck, where northern seas were high,
And midnight wrapp'd in ebon veil the chill and starless sky:
It struck! what moment was there then to waste in sorrow's strife!
When but one bold adventurous rush remain’d 'tween death and life.
The boat! the boat! it launches forth upon the mountain wave,
And leaping throngs, with frantic haste, essay its power to save:
A fragile thing, it tossing strove amid the wrathful tide,
And deep, unutter'd pangs were theirs who left that vessel's side.
A moonbeam pierced the heavy cloud: oh, God! what sight was there!
Who stood upon that fated deck, in calm and mute despair!
A gentle maiden just aroused from slumber soft and dear,
Stretch'd her white arms in wild amaze, but found no helper near.
In fond adieu her hand she waved, as if some friend she bless'd,
Then closer drew her snowy robe around her youthful breast;
And upward to the darken'd heavens imploring glances cast,
While her rich curls profusely fell, and floated on the blast.
All sudden, from his wildering trance, a manly form did start,
While a loud agonizing cry burst from his labouring heart;
His bloodless lip was deadly cold, strange lustre fill'd his eye,
"How can I bear a brother's name, yet leave thee thus to die!"
He plunged-the crested wave he ruled; he climbed the cloven deck,
And clasp'd her as the thundering surge swept o'er the heaving wreck:
"Sweet sister, 'tis thy brother's voice; his cheek is pressed to thine;
Together childhood's path we trod, thy last dread couch be mine!"
Still look'd the moon with pitying eye, all lone and silent down,
Encircling them with holy light as with a martyr's crown,
Then shrank behind her fleecy veil; hoarse shrieked th' impetuous main;
The deep sea closed—and where were they? Ask of the angel train!
Ah! noble hearts that night were whelm'd beneath the billows high,
And temples white with honour'd years, and woman's love-lit eye,
And clinging to its mother's breast, in visions soft and deep,
Unwaken'd innocence went down amid the pearls to sleep.
The slumberers—they who sank that hour, without a struggling breath,
With whom the unbroken dream of life so melted into death,
Say, turn'd they not, in deep amaze, to seek the scenes of time,
When first eternity's dread shore spread out in pomp sublime?
Wo, wo was with the living heart! In many a smitten home,
Where, in the garniture of grief, the weeping inmates come,
Round many a lonely hearth-stone shall Memory's touch restore
The image of the loved and lost, who must return no more.
The eye that saw that monster-mass come drifting darkly down,
Destruction in its wintry blast and on its vitreous crown,
The ear that heard the deadly crash, the thunder of the wave,
Can never lose the bitter trace but in the oblivious grave.
The rescued man, to listening groups, shall tell the fearful tale,
And mute affection clasp his hand, and childhood's cheek be pale,
And while, with quicken'd heart, they bless the great Deliverer's care,
The iceberg and the buried ship shall prompt their tearful prayer.