The stranger, of a land unknown,
His name, his place of birth untold,
He rests where no recording stone
His story may unfold;
Where but the hollow-sounding surge
Howls to the wind his ceaseless dirge;
And seafowl, o'er his grave that sail,
Shriek forth a wild, funereal wail.
Perchance, a husband and a sire!
For him, his long-expectant mate
Hath fondly trimmed her evening fire,
And kept her vigils late;
And taught her babes, with pious care,
To bear upon their infant prayer,
At rise of dawn and fall of day,.
Their absent father, far
Perchance, while ocean's wastes he ranged, And native shades in dreams were near, And love's rewarding hour, he changed The bridal for the bier!
While she, the widowed and unwed,
The pale betrothed of the dead,
Long watched his bark, that from the main Ne'er reared her cloud of sail again.
But where he sleeps, no mourners grieve— No tribute to his tomb is given ––
THE CEMETERY OF THE SHIPWRECKED. 337
No sighs, except the sighs of eve
No tears, but those of heaven!
Yet, more sublime than grandeur's tomb,
That towers beneath a temple's dome,
Is his, the nameless stranger's grave,
Here, by the dirge-resounding wave.
THE CEMETERY OF THE SHIPWRECKED.
I SEE no little kirk-no bell
On Sabbath tinkled through this dell.
How beautiful those graves and fair,
That, lying round the house of prayer,
Sleep in the shadow of its grace!
But death hath chosen this rueful place
For his own undivided reign;
And nothing tells that e'er again
The sleepers will forsake their bed-
Now, and for everlasting dead;
For hope with memory seems fled!
Wild-screaming bird! unto the sea
Winging thy flight reluctantly,
Slow-floating o'er these grassy tombs
So ghost-like, with thy snow-white plumes,
At once from thy wild shriek I know
What means this place so steeped in woe.
Here, they who perished on the deep
Enjoy at last unrocking sleep;
For ocean, from his wrathful breast,
Flung them into this haven of rest,
Where shroudless, coffinless, they lie
"Tis the shipwrecked seaman's cemetery.
Here seamen old, with grizzled locks,
Shipwrecked before on desert rocks,
And by some wandering vessel taken
From sorrows that seem God-forsaken,
Home-bound, here have met the blast,
That wrecked them on Death's shore at last―
Old friendless men, who had no tears
To shed, nor any place for fears
In hearts by misery fortified,
And without terror, sternly died.
Here many a creature, moving bright
And glorious in full manhood's might,
Who dared with an untroubled eye
The tempest brooding in the sky,
And loved to hear that music rave,
And danced above the mountain-wave,
Hath quaked on this terrific strand-
All flung like sea-weeds to the land;
A whole crew lying side by side,
Death dashed at once in all their pride.
And here, the bright-haired, fair-faced boy,
Who took with him all earthly joy
From one who weeps both night and day.
For her sweet son borne far away,
Escaped at last the cruel deep,
In all his beauty lies asleep;
All she would yield, [save] hopes of grace,
For one kiss of his pale, cold face!
I've seen the lightning cleave the pole,
I've heard the tempest round me roar;
I've seen the mountain billow roll,
And dash upon the surging shore.
On the rude waves a ship was borne,
Swift as the winds the ocean sweep;
On a sharp rock the ship was torn,
And sunk beneath the foaming deep.
And then I heard the shrieks of men,
Commingling with their dying prayer—
I listened still and heard again
Nought but the tempest howling there.
The whelming wave had stopped their breath, And quenched the flame that life had fed; They struggled with the arm of death,
Then, wearied, sought their coral bed!
Oh! could their spirits ever sleep,
And perish with their mortal frame, Then o'er that fate we'd cease to weep, Which snatched them from a life of shame.
But ah! they live, for ever live,
Plunged in abodes of gloom they dwell,
Where none release from pain can give,
Or break the iron gates of hell.
Storms will assail their harassed souls,
Tempests of wrath and quenchless fire,
While round a burning ocean rolls,
Kindled by God's relentless ire.
O! Sailor, Sailor, hear the voice,
Which bids you know the Saviour's love,—— Which bids you come and taste the joys Felt by the holy throng above.
Know that a God has died for you,
And oped for you the gate of heaven;
Know that for guilt of crimson hue,
Thou may'st repent and be forgiven.
Ah! should you drop the sorrowing tear
O'er sins that blacken all your life,
Then would you have no bolt to fear,
Amid the raging tempest's strife.
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