'TWAS a fierce night when old Mawgan died, Men shudder'd to hear the rolling tide: The wreckers fled fast from the awful shore, They had heard strange voices amid the roar. "Out with the boat there," some one cried, -- "Will he never come? we shall lose the tide: His berth is trim and his cabin stor'd, He's a weary long time coming on board." The old man struggled upon the bed: He knew the words that the voices said; Wildly he shriek'd as his eyes grew dim, "He was dead! he was dead! when I buried him." Hark yet again to the devilish roar, "He was nimbler once with a ship on shore; Come! come! old man, 't is a vain delay, We must make the offing by break of day." Hard was the struggle, but at the last, With a stormy pang old Mawgan past, And away, away, beneath their sight, Gleam'd the red sail at pitch of night. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...SISTER LOU by STERLING ALLEN BROWN MOON OF LOVELINESS by MUHAMMAD AL-MU'TAMID II A MOOD by THOMAS BAILEY ALDRICH THE WELFORD WEDDING by ELIZABETH FRANCES AMHERST SONNETS OF MANHOOD: 18. A PORTRAIT by GEORGE BARLOW (1847-1913) |