Poems (Follen)/Her Voyage is at an end
HER VOYAGE IS AT AN END.
Cohasset shore, July, 1831.
Hushed was the ocean's stormy roar, Still as an infant's joy: There sat upon the rocky shore A father and his boy.
Far off they saw a gallant ship; It came from foreign lands: The boy began to dance and skip, And clap his little hands.
Her wished-for port is near at hand; The ship is hastening on; They hear the birds sing on the land; Her voyage is nearly done.
The boy's glad notes, his shouts of glee, The rocks with music fill; But now he cries, "See, father, see! The ship is standing still."
Her masts are trembling from the shock; Her white sails all descend: The ship has struck upon a rock; Her voyage is at an end.
The sailors hurry to and fro; All crowded is the deck: She struggles hard—she 's free—O no! She is indeed a wreck.
The boy's young heart is full of grief: "Father! what will she do? Let's take the boat to her relief; Oh! quickly let us go."
They went—and many a stronger hand Its ready succor gave: They brought the crew all safe to land, And the cargo tried to save.
The night comes on, the night is dark, More dark the billows seem; They break against the ship, and, hark! The seamew's mournful scream.
The boy upon his pillow lies; In sweet repose he sinks; And, as he shuts his weary eyes, On the poor ship he thinks.
The sun shines o'er the watery main, As it did the day before; The father and his son again Are seated on the shore.
With the western wind full many a boat Their white sails gayly fill; They lightly o'er the blue waves float; But the gallant ship is still.
The sailors now the mournful wreck Of masts and rigging strip: The waves are playing o'er the deck Of the sad and ruined ship.
A crow upon the top branch stood Of a lone and blasted tree: He seemed to look upon the flood With a gloomy sympathy.
The boy now looks up at the bird, At the sinking vessel now; He does not speak a single word, But a shade is on his brow.
Now slowly comes a towering wave, And sweeps with triumph on; It bears her to her watery grave,— The gallant ship is gone.
Hushed is the ocean's stormy roar, Still as an infant's joy: The father sits upon the shore In silence with his boy.