He who has suffered shipwreck, fears to sail
	Upon the seas, though with a gentle gale.

Herrick.    

	Or shipwrecked, kindles on the coast
	False fires, that others may be lost.

Wordsworth.    

	Some hoisted out the boats, and there was one
	That begged Pedrillo for an absolution,
	Who told him to be damn’d,—in his confusion.

Byron.    

	Then rose from sea to sky the wild farewell—
	Then shriek’d the timid, and stood still the brave,—
	Then some leap’d overboard with fearful yell,
	As eager to anticipate their grave.

Byron.    

	O, I have suffer’d
	With those that I saw suffer! a brave vessel,
	Who had no doubt some noble creature in her,
	Dash’d all to pieces. O, the cry did knock
	Against my very heart! poor souls! they perish’d.

Shakespeare.    

	But hark! what shriek of death comes in the gale,
	And in the distant ray what glimmering sail
	Bends to the storm?—Now sinks the note of fear!
	Ah! wretched mariners!—no more shall day
	Unclose his cheering eye to light ye on your way!

Mrs. Radcliffe.    

	And fast through the midnight dark and drear,
	Through the whistling sleet and snow,
	Like a sheeted ghost, the vessel swept
	Towards the reef of Norman’s Woe.

Longfellow.    

	In vain, alas! the sacred shades of yore
	Would arm the mind with philosophic lore,
	In vain they’d teach us, at the latest breath,
	To smile serene amid the pangs of death.

Falconer.    

	Again she plunges! hark! a second shock
	Bilges the splitting vessel on the rock;
	Down on the vale of death, with dismal cries,
	The fated victims shuddering cast their eyes
	In wild despair; while yet another stroke
	With strong convulsion rends the solid oak:
	Ah heaven!—behold her crashing ribs divide!
	She loosens, parts, and spreads in ruin o’er the tide.

Falconer.