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7
Time but the impression stronger makes,
As streams their deeper channels wear.
My Mary, dear departed shade!
Where is thy place of blissful rest?
Seest thou thy lover lowly laid?
Hear’st thou the groans that rend his breast?
THE BAY OF BISCAY O.
Loud roar’d the dreadful thuuder;
The rain in deluge show’rs!
The clouds were rent asunder
By lightning’s vivid pow’rs.
The night both drear and dark,
Our poor devoted bark,
Till next day,
There she lay,
In the bay of Biscay O.
Now dash’d upon the billow,
Our op’ning timbers creak;
Each fears a wat’ry pillow,
None stop the dreadful leak.
To cling to slipp’ry shronds,
Each breathless seamen crowds,
As she lay,
Till the day,
In the bay of Biscay O.
