Fearful they ask, but dread the sad reply, And many a sailor tells the friendly lie— “There is no danger—that is, we believe, And think—and hope”—but this does not deceive, Although it soothes them; while they look around, Trembling at every sight and every sound. 230 Let me not dwell on terrors——It is dark, And lights are carried to and fro, and hark! There is a cry—“a boat, a boat at hand!” } What a still terror is there now on land! } “Whose, whose?” they all enquire, and none can understand. } At length they come—and oh! how then rejoice A wife and children at that welcome voice! It is not theirs—but what have these to tell? “Where did you leave the Captain—were they well?” Alas! they know not, they had felt an awe 240 In dread of death, and knew not what they saw. Thus they depart—The evening darker grows, The lights shake wildly, and as wildly blows The stormy night-wind; fear possesses all, The hardest hearts, in this sad interval. But hark again to voices loud and high! Once more that hope, that dread, that agony, That panting expectation! “Oh! reveal What must be known, and think what pangs we feel!” In vain they ask! The men now landed speak 250 Confused and quick, and to escape them seek. Our female party on a sailor press, } But nothing learn that makes their terror less; } Nothing the man can show, or nothing will confess. } To some, indeed, they whisper, bringing news For them alone, but others they refuse; And steal away, as if they could not bear The griefs they cause and, if they cause, must share. They too are gone! and our unhappy Three, Half wild with fear, are trembling on the quay. 260 They can no ease, no peace, no quiet find, The storm is gathering in the troubled mind; Thoughts after thoughts in wild succession rise, And all within is changing like the skies. Their friends persuade them, “Do depart, we pray!” } They will not, must not, cannot go away, } But chill’d with icy fear, for certain tidings stay. } And now again there must a boat be seen— Men run together! It must something mean! Some figure moves upon the [oozy] bound, 270 Where flows the tide—Oh! what can he have found— What lost? And who is he?—The only one Of the loved three—the Captain’s younger son. Their boat was fill’d and sank—He knows no more, But that he only hardly reach’d the shore. He saw them swimming—for he once was near— But he was sinking, and he could not hear; And then the waves curl’d round him, but, at length, He struck upon the boat with dying strength, And that preserved him; when he turn’d around, 280} Nought but the dark, wild, billowy flood was found— } That flood was all he saw, that flood’s the only sound— } Save that the angry wind, with ceaseless roar, Dash’d the wild waves upon the rocky shore.