| |
| I SING no more of belted knights, | |
| Or the pure blood they boast; | |
| My song is of the sterner stuff | |
| That guards our native coast: | |
| The hearts of oak that grow all round | 5 |
| The islands where we dwell, | |
| Whose names have less of Norman sound, | |
| And easier are to spell. | |
| |
| At nine A. M., wind west-northwest, | |
| And blowing half a gale, | 10 |
| Round Stepper Point a schooner came, | |
| But under close-reefed sail. | |
| ’T is a wild place to fetch, the waves | |
| Break on the Doombar sands, | |
| And from the hills the eddying winds | 15 |
| Perplex the steadiest hands. | |
| |
| And now she glides in water smooth, | |
| But the ebb-tide runs fast, | |
| And suddenly the land-wind blows, | |
| And shakes each bending mast: | 20 |
| Soon back to sea she drifts away, | |
| Nearing St. Minver’s shore; | |
| Then grounds, and o’er her deck the high | |
| Atlantic billows pour. | |
| |
| Man, man the lifeboat! Many a crew | 25 |
| Her pride has been to save | |
| In a stronger gale and darker hour, | |
| And from a wilder wave. | |
| Their names are: Harris, Truscott, French, | |
| Hills, Cronnell, Brenton, May, | 30 |
| Varcoe, Bate, Bennett, Malyn, and | |
| Intross and coastguard Shea. | |
| |
| All trusty men of pluck and strength, | |
| And skill to guide withal; | |
| Some more than some had proved their worth, | 35 |
| As chance to them did fall: | |
| Shea for his human chivalry | |
| The Imperial medal wore; | |
| Intross and Varcoe’s breasts the words | |
| “Crimea,” “Baltic,” bore. | 40 |
| |
| One more, Hills, claims brief mention here, | |
| No sturdier man than he; | |
| In quest of Franklin’s bones he went | |
| To the dread Arctic Sea. | |
| Such was the staple of the crew, | 45 |
| Who worked with earnest will; | |
| To see them breast the awful waves | |
| Made the spectators thrill. | |
| |
| Towards the doomed ship their way they cleave, | |
| But may not reach her side; | 50 |
| And then to Polzeath Bay they steer, | |
| But stronger runs the tide: | |
| The breakers, as they heave and burst, | |
| The buoyant boat submerge; | |
| O’erturned she rights,—again o’erturned, | 55 |
| She drifts upon the surge! | |
| |
| The watchers from Trebethic Cliff | |
| And high Pentire rush down, | |
| As dead or gasping on the rocks | |
| The dauntless crew are thrown: | 60 |
| Of the thirteen but eight survive! | |
| Shea, Truscott, breathe no more; | |
| Varcoe and Cronnell, last Intross, | |
| Come lifeless to the shore. | |
| |
| The schooner’s crew, five souls in all, | 65 |
| Save one the shore did reach, | |
| Just where the stranded vessel lay, | |
| On the Trebethic beach. | |
| He, at the moment when she struck, | |
| Was jerked into the wave; | 70 |
| And well he swam in sight of all, | |
| But none was nigh to save. | |
| |
| The wail of widows pierced the night, | |
| And on the starlit strand | |
| The weeping children, fatherless, | 75 |
| Still lingered, hand in hand. | |
| And love and pity thrilled men’s hearts, | |
| For sorrow makes all kin; | |
| And not to honor bravery | |
| Were more than shame,—were sin. | 80 |
| |
| Soon to the old churchyard the dead | |
| Went with a countless throng; | |
| All but the splendid Irishman, | |
| So gentle, brave, and strong: | |
| And him to lone Lanherne they took, | 85 |
| Where manly tears did fall, | |
| While other rites his ashes blessed | |
| Within that ancient wall. | |
| |
