The Burning Ship at Sea

The night was clear and mild, And the breeze went softly by, And the stars of heaven smiled As they wandered up the sky; And there rode a gallant ship on the wave—- But many a hapless wight Slept the sleep of death that night, And before the morning light Found a grave!

All were sunk in soft repose, Save the watch upon the deck: Not a boding dream arose Of the horrors of the wreck, To the mother, or the child, or the sire; Till a shriek of woe profound, Like a death-knell echoed round—- With a wild and dismal sound, A shriek of "Fire!"

Now the flames are spreading fast—- With resistless rage they fly,

Up the shrouds and up the mast, And are flickering to the sky; Now the deck is all a-blaze; now the rails—- There's no place to rest their feet; Fore and aft the torches meet, And a wingèd lightning-sheet Are the sails.

No one heard the cry of woe But the sea-bird that flew by; There was hurrying to and fro, But no hand to save was nigh; Still before the burning foe they were driven—- Last farewells were uttered there, With a wild and frenzied stare, And a short and broken prayer Sent to Heaven.

Some leap over in the flood To the death that waits them there; Others quench the flames with blood, And expire in open air; Some, a moment to escape from the grave, On the bowsprit take a stand; But their death is near at hand—- Soon they hug the burning brand On the wave.

From his briny ocean-bed, When the morning sun awoke, Lo, that gallant ship had fled! And a sable cloud of smoke Was the monumental pyre that remained;

But the sea gulls round it fly, With a quick and fearful cry, And the brands that floated by Blood had stained.