Page:Poems Sigourney 1827.pdf/98

98 Hark!—'tis the crash of thunder!—But no cloud Mantles the untroubled sky. Again!—it blends with cries of anguish loud,— In air disruptured members fly, Blood streams, and 'neath the water's roar Plunge deeply those who rise no more. And ah! outstretch'd I see, In nameless agony, Woman's imploring hand.—The piercing cry Of suffering innocence invades the sky. Haste—snatch them from the wreck; O God they faint—they die.

'Tis silent on the wave. The thunders sleep; But many a stricken soul shall mourn their ire; Still smiles the sun;—but many an eye shall weep Ere to his sea-girt chamber he retire: The expected guest—the sister fair,— The child, with fond, confiding air,— The friend, who with an angel's mein Illumed the dear, domestic scene— Ah! ask not—ask not where they are, Or why they come not!—See despair Rend from the mourning sire The few thin remnants of that silver hair, Which, frosted o'er with age, e'en ruthless Time could spare. Who to the orphan's arms its treasure shall restore? Who bind the widow's heart, which breaking heals no more?

Frail as a flower, beneath the blast of pain, How impotent and vain