We saw her treasures cast away—
The rocks with pearls were sown,
And strangely sad, the ruby's ray
Flash'd out o'er fretted stone.
And gold was strewn the wet sands o'er,
Like ashes by a breeze—
And gorgeous robes—but oh! that shore
Had sadder things than these!
We saw the strong man still and low,
A crush'd reed thrown aside—
Yet by that rigid lip and brow,
Not without strife he died.
And near him on the sea-weed lay—
Till then we had not wept,
But well our gushing hearts might say,
That there a mother slept!
For her pale arms a babe had prest,
With such a wreathing grasp,
Billows had dash'd o'er that fond breast,
Yet not undone the clasp.
Her very tresses had been flung
To wrap the fair child's form,
Where still their wet long streamers clung,
All tangled by the storm.
