31
'Are all the dead dogs over?'
Growl'd through that matted lip—
'The blind ones are no better,
Let's lighten the good ship!'
Hark! from the ship's dark bosom,
The very sounds of hell!
The ringing clank or iron—
The maniac's short, sharp yell!
The hoarse, low curse, throat-stifled—
The starving infant's moan—
The horror of a breaking heart
Pour'd through a mother's groan!
Up from the loathsome prison
The stricken blind ones came—
Below, had all been darkness—
Above, was still the same.
Yet the holy breath of Heaven
Was sweetly breathing there,
And the heated brow of fever
Cool'd in the soft sea-air.
'Overboard with them, shipmates!'
Cutlass and dirk were plied;
Fetter'd and blind, one after one,
Plunged down the vessel's side.
The sabre smote above—
Beneath, the lean shark lay,
Waiting with wide and bloody jaw
His quick and human prey.
