Her Voyage Is at an End by Eliza Lee Follen

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,
O, quickly let us go!”

They went,—and many a stronger hand
Its ready succour 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.

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