Page:Moral Pieces in Prose and Verse.pdf/21



ROUND that wide bay whose waters sweep, With slow—sad current, to the deep, Hoarse billows beat the rugged shore, Of cold and dismal Labrador.

There as the lonely sailor keeps His night-watch o'er those awful deeps, Sighs for his long deserted home And hails the slowly rising moon, Lo! icy cliffs of fearful size Flash death before his startled eyes, Cleave his frail bark with thund'ring crash, As lightnings rend the lofty ash. His frantic shrieks of thrilling pain Rouse from their beds the helpless train, Who soon shall sleep nor wake again. Cold to the raft their limbs congeal, Their icy hearts forget to feel, Dim close their eyes in silent sleep On their last couch—the northern deep.

Perchance upon the flinty beach, Their dry, unburied bones may bleach,