Poems (Charlotte Allen)/Reflections on the Disaster of the Lexington, January 13, 1840
REFLECTIONS ON THE DISASTER OF THE LEXINGTON, JAN. 13, 1840.
Methinks I see it now;That fated barque, loosed from its moorings,Proudly coursing o'er the heaving waves,Bearing within its narrow confinesMany fond, confiding, joyous hearts,Each with some treasured happinessIn view.
The day's departing beams,Had softly faded into the shadesOf evening; the winds seemed hushed intoA gentle murmur, while the stars wereSmiling down in all their radiance.Fast sped the boat and fearless, o'er theWaters of her well known, oft-tried course;While those who convened there in fancied Safety, but little deemed that death wasHovering 'round them; when the sad sound,"The boat 's on fire!" came like a thunder-Bolt to each one's heart. The appallingCry is echoed all around; they scarceBelieve they hear aright; transfixed theyStand for one brief moment, in breathlessSilence, with affrighted gaze. Again,"The boat 's on fire!" meets their astoundedEars; madly they rush on deck; the flamesAre bursting forth, above, below, around;With frenzied feelings they look in vainFor succor; death stares them in the face,For two devouring elements seemWaiting to engulph them; in haste theySeek the boats, imagining to find,Security within them; but theTreacherous waves deny them safety.How many hearts, riven with anguish,Hold, trembling on the vessel's side, tillExhausted strength, or fire's heat, sinks themBeneath the wave. Others leap, in wild,Despairing hopelessness, upon theWater's breast, seeking a plank, or butA straw to gain, to buoy them up. VainHope, and brief as vain! death closed theTragic scene.
There were proud hearts and stern,And men of noble daring; but all,All was terror in a scene like this.Angels must have looked with pity onThat sight; there's not a heart that's heard thePainful tale, but feels as if some lovedOne had departed from their own dearFire-side: all eyes have wept over theHorrors of that suffering night, whichFancy cannot paint, nor pen describe. Among the hapless crowd,Moved one who just returned from some farDistant clime, was wending onward toHis eastern home, to consummate, withHeaven's blessing, a holy rite. ButHis sweet dream of happiness was brief;Death's angel hovered o'er him in thatTrying hour, and took his spirit toA brighter realm.
Truly he hath gone home,But not the home he fondly dreamed of;While she, the loved one, who with anxiousThoughts was waiting his return, doth feelThe withering blast of disappointment Hath passed o'er all her cherished hopes ofFuture bliss, casting a shade aroundHer path; deeply hath she drank from life'sMost bitter fountain; but may thatGreat Being, within whose hands are allOur destinies, assuage her grief, andPour into her bleeding heart the balmOf consolation, bidding her lockWith an unclouded vision, to aReunion in the land of spirits.