THE SHIPWRECK.
The good ship on the iceberg struck, where northern seas were high,
And midnight wrapp'd in ebon veil the chill and starless sky:
It struck! what moment was there then to waste in sorrow's strife!
When but one bold adventurous rush remain’d 'tween death and life.
The boat! the boat! it launches forth upon the mountain wave,
And leaping throngs, with frantic haste, essay its power to save:
A fragile thing, it tossing strove amid the wrathful tide,
And deep, unutter'd pangs were theirs who left that vessel's side.
A moonbeam pierced the heavy cloud: oh, God! what sight was there!
Who stood upon that fated deck, in calm and mute despair!
A gentle maiden just aroused from slumber soft and dear,
Stretch'd her white arms in wild amaze, but found no helper near.
In fond adieu her hand she waved, as if some friend she bless'd,
Then closer drew her snowy robe around her youthful breast;
