A sail! How looks she in the dark? “Bravely! She is a royal barque!” Give thanks! Hurrah! I ween the wave Before the morn shall be her grave! Out with the guns!—“Ho, sir! she veers!— Again! again! Hurrah! she nears!” She came so nigh, that we could see The pilot’s lonely ministry. Sudden as lightning from its lair Fire glowed around her deck;— Ha! ship, that rode so proudly there— Thou art a very wreck! Once more the frowning guns were out; Their thunder told in shriek and shout! “The barque’s on fire!”—with one wild cry! That pierced the very wave and sky, Her crew leaped in the tide; But as she heavily floated by— Oh! God what met my startled eye? The chieftain and his bride! Yes, he and Ila shrined in flame Were wildly calling on my name:— At one mad bound I cleared my deck, And stood upon that burning wreck: Through flame and smoke I fearless flew! A moment—I have reached the two! I grasped him! and the lurid wave Revenged me well—it was his grave. I bore her in my arms—the smoke And flame in vain around me broke,— I felt them curling o’er my brow, As fierce they swept from stern to plow;— I struggled on!—one effort more— I leaped upon my vessel’s side! Thank God! the final strife was o’er, And I had won my ocean-bride! In one dread shock the crackling mast Came thundering down beneath the blast:— The flaming wreck slow drives away— Dim and more dim we marked the ray; And now unloosing every sail— We feel our vessel, like a steed Gladdening to serve his rider’s need, Dart out before the gale.