The ship was at rest in the tranquil bay, Unmoved by a ripple—undimm'd by a cloud; The winds were asleep, and her broad sails lay As still and as white as a winding-shroud.
She was a fair and beautiful thing, With the waters around her, all peaceful and bright; Ready for speed as a wild bird's wing, Graceful in quiet—'mid glory and light.
There was a maiden wandering free, With a cheek as fresh as the foam at her feet; With a heart that went forth, like a summer-day bee, To take nothing but honey from all it might meet.
She stood on the land as the bark on the main, As placid in beauty, as lovely in form; The maiden had dreamt not of sadness or pain, The vessel had never been dash'd by the storm.
Where are they now—the brave ship and fair girl? Gaze on the fragments that scatter the shore: The tempest is raging—the mad billows curl, And the glorious bark shall be look'd on no more.
And the maiden so fair—oh! what change has come there! She is wandering still, and she wanders alone; But her cheek has grown white, and her eye lost its light, And the dove from her breast, with its olive, has flown.
She has loved, but "not wisely,"—she walks to the grave; Unwept and unmark'd shall her spirit depart; There's a record of ships that go down in the wave, But no whisper to tell of the wreck of a heart!
