by H. Savile Clarke.
Originally published in Belgravia (John Maxwell) vol.4 #16 (Feb 1868).
The sea with imperial splendour
Broke soft on the sounding shore,
And the moon-time, pale and tender,
Saw a sight that for evermore
Had brought the strange tones of sorrow,
And a grief beyond all tears,
For the dead to whom no morrow
Could come in the infinite years.
The cries were unavailing
That rang o'er the desolate sea,
From the doomed ship, madly sailing
To the death that frowned on the lee.
No need of the lighthouse-tower,
And the lamps that flash so bright;
They said, "We have watched an hour,
And weary for morning light."
But the merciless sea rose prouder,
And the cloud-rack gathered in gloom;
The roar of the wind grew iouder,
And the good ship went to her doom.
And the moon, when the clouds were riven,
Looked out on the wreck, and I said,
"A blessing to all be given,
When the sea yields up her dead!"