| |
| LIKE spectral hounds across the sky, | |
| The white clouds scud before the storm; | |
| And naked in the howling night | |
| The red-eyed lighthouse lifts its form. | |
| The waves with slippery fingers clutch | 5 |
| The massive tower, and climb and fall, | |
| And, muttering, growl with baffled rage | |
| Their curses on the sturdy wall. | |
| |
| Up in the lonely tower he sits, | |
| The keeper of the crimson light: | 10 |
| Silent and awestruck does he hear | |
| The imprecations of the night. | |
| The white spray beats against the panes | |
| Like some wet ghost that down the air | |
| Is hunted by a troop of fiends, | 15 |
| And seeks a shelter anywhere. | |
| |
| He prays aloud, the lonely man, | |
| For every soul that night at sea, | |
| But more than all for that brave boy | |
| Who used to gayly climb his knee,— | 20 |
| Young Charlie, with his chestnut hair | |
| And hazel eyes and laughing lip. | |
| “May Heaven look down,” the old man cries, | |
| “Upon my son, and on his ship!” | |
| |
| While thus with pious heart he prays, | 25 |
| Far in the distance sounds a boom: | |
| He pauses; and again there rings | |
| That sullen thunder through the room. | |
| A ship upon the shoals to-night! | |
| She cannot hold for one half-hour; | 30 |
| But clear the ropes and grappling-hooks, | |
| And trust in the Almighty Power! | |
| |
| On the drenched gallery he stands, | |
| Striving to pierce the solid night: | |
| Across the sea the red eye throws | 35 |
| A steady crimson wake of light; | |
| And, where it falls upon the waves, | |
| He sees a human head float by, | |
| With long drenched curls of chestnut hair, | |
| And wild but fearless hazel eye. | 40 |
| |
| Out with the hooks! One mighty fling! | |
| Adown the wind the long rope curls. | |
| Oh, will it catch? Ah, dread suspense! | |
| While the wild ocean wilder whirls. | |
| A steady pull; it tightens now: | 45 |
| Oh! his old heart will burst with joy, | |
| As on the slippery rocks he pulls | |
| The breathing body of his boy. | |
| |
| Still sweep the spectres through the sky; | |
| Still scud the clouds before the storm; | 50 |
| Still naked in the howling night | |
| The red-eyed lighthouse lifts its form. | |
| Without, the world is wild with rage; | |
| Unkennelled demons are abroad: | |
| But with the father and the son | 55 |
| Within, there is the peace of God. | |
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