| |
| I LIT the lamps in the lighthouse tower, | |
| For the sun dropped down and the day was dead; | |
| They shone like a glorious clustered flower,— | |
| Ten golden and five red. | |
| |
| Looking across, where the line of coast | 5 |
| Stretched darkly, shrinking away from the sea, | |
| The lights sprang out at its edge,—almost | |
| They seemed to answer me! | |
| |
| O warning lights! burn bright and clear, | |
| Hither the storm comes! Leagues away | 10 |
| It moans and thunders low and drear,— | |
| Burn till the break of day! | |
| |
| Good-night! I called to the gulls that sailed | |
| Slow past me through the evening sky; | |
| And my comrades, answering shrilly, hailed | 15 |
| Me back with boding cry. | |
| |
| A mournful breeze began to blow, | |
| Weird music it drew through the iron bars, | |
| The sullen billows boiled below, | |
| And dimly peered the stars; | 20 |
| |
| The sails that flecked the ocean floor | |
| From east to west leaned low and fled; | |
| They knew what came in the distant roar | |
| That filled the air with dread! | |
| |
| Flung by a fitful gust, there beat | 25 |
| Against the window a dash of rain;— | |
| Steady as tramp of marching feet | |
| Strode on the hurricane. | |
| |
| It smote the waves for a moment still, | |
| Level and deadly white for fear; | 30 |
| The bare rock shuddered,—an awful thrill | |
| Shook even my tower of cheer. | |
| |
| Like all the demons loosed at last, | |
| Whistling and shrieking, wild and wide, | |
| The mad wind raged, while strong and fast | 35 |
| Rolled in the rising tide. | |
| |
| And soon in ponderous showers the spray, | |
| Struck from the granite, reared and sprung | |
| And clutched at tower and cottage gray, | |
| Where overwhelmed they clung | 40 |
| |
| Half drowning to the naked rock; | |
| But still burned on the faithful light, | |
| Nor faltered at the tempest’s shock, | |
| Through all the fearful night. | |
| |
| Was it in vain? That knew not we. | 45 |
| We seemed, in that confusion vast | |
| Of rushing wind and roaring sea, | |
| One point whereon was cast | |
| |
| The whole Atlantic’s weight of brine. | |
| Heaven help the ship should drift our way! | 50 |
| No matter how the light might shine | |
| Far on into the day. | |
| |
| When morning dawned, above the din | |
| Of gale and breaker boomed a gun! | |
| Another! We who sat within | 55 |
| Answered with cries each one. | |
| |
| Into each other’s eyes with fear, | |
| We looked through helpless tears, as still, | |
| One after one, near and more near, | |
| The signals pealed, until | 60 |
| |
| The thick storm seemed to break apart | |
| To show us, staggering to her grave, | |
| The fated brig. We had no heart | |
| To look, for naught could save. | |
| |
| One glimpse of black hull heaving slow, | 65 |
| Then closed the mists o’er canvas torn | |
| And tangled ropes swept to and fro | |
| From masts that raked forlorn. | |
| |
| Weeks after, yet ringed round with spray, | |
| Our island lay, and none might land; | 70 |
| Though blue the waters of the bay | |
| Stretched calm on either hand. | |
| |
| And when at last from the distant shore | |
| A little boat stole out, to reach | |
| Our loneliness, and bring once more | 75 |
| Fresh human thought and speech, | |
| |
| We told our tale, and the boatmen cried: | |
| “’T was the Pocahontas,—all were lost! | |
| For miles along the coast the tide | |
| Her shattered timbers tossed.” | 80 |
| |
| Then I looked the whole horizon round,— | |
| So beautiful the ocean spread | |
| About us, o’er those sailors drowned! | |
| “Father in heaven,” I said,— | |
| |
| A child’s grief struggling in my breast,— | 85 |
| “Do purposeless thy children meet | |
| Such bitter death? How was it best | |
| These hearts should cease to beat? | |
| |
| “O wherefore! Are we naught to thee? | |
| Like senseless weeds that rise and fall | 90 |
| Upon thine awful sea, are we | |
| No more then, after all?” | |
| |
| And I shut the beauty from my sight, | |
| For I thought of the dead that lay below; | |
| From the bright air faded the warmth and light, | 95 |
| There came a chill like snow. | |
| |
| Then I heard the far-off rote resound, | |
| Where the breakers slow and slumberous rolled, | |
| And a subtile sense of Thought profound | |
| Touched me with power untold. | 100 |
| |
| And like a voice eternal spake | |
| That wondrous rhythm, and, “Peace, be still!” | |
| It murmured, “bow thy head and take | |
| Life’s rapture and life’s ill, | |
| |
| “And wait. At last all shall be clear.” | 105 |
| The long, low, mellow music rose | |
| And fell, and soothed my dreaming ear | |
| With infinite repose. | |
| |
| Sighing I climbed the lighthouse stair, | |
| Half forgetting my grief and pain; | 110 |
| And while the day died, sweet and fair, | |
| I lit the lamps again. | |
| |
