Select Poetry.

Hawke's Bay Times, Volume 16, Issue 814, 18 August 1870, Page 3

Select Poetry.

THE LOSS OF THE B.S. f TAUMNQ4' \Jitx Sail Rock, Midnight, July 23,1,870. [Weekly News .(Auckland), August 13. J

Bark is the night, and cold; across the sky The black clouds drive in masses, not a break Is there to show the light of one pale star Shedding its radienee o'er the watery waste. Onward the vessel goes, her course as true As if 'twere noon instead of blackest night; Guided with skill by watchful hardy men, Who little reck the doom that hangs so near. The careful captain paces on the bridge, Peering into the darkness; not for him Are rest or slumber, for on him depends The safety of the sleepers; who below In quiet confidence repose, as if They slept beneath the rooftrees of their homes. The weary helmsman leans upon the wheel Looking with longing at the glow of lurht, That shines from out the cabin's skylight near, Telling of warmth and comfort j then he yawns, And thinks it must be time to strike tbe bell, That tells his shipmates that his watch is o'er, And brings relief; no thought of danger there, No sound is heard except the mighty pulse Of the strong engine, with unwavering stroke Driving the noble vessel through the sea. What sees the captain no w ? Why should he start And spring beside the wheel ? Beneath his hand The spokes fly round, the startled helmsman sees A shape loom through the darkness. Gracious

Heaven J A vessel right ahead! Alas, too late She's seen to avoid the dreadful shook that comes Rending the timbers, crushing like a shell The planks of that fair ship that only now Floated in safety on those billowy waves That rush with fury through her shattered sides, The sleepers wake with terror-stricken start, And for a moment stare with wild amaze, And scarce can realise their awful doom. Too soon the swelling flood brings blank despair, Surely and quickly overwhelming all, 0, God ! to die like this, peun'd up, confined! Not e'en a struggle can be made to save; Escape is hopeless; the relentless tide Soon stifles the one wild and dreadful cry Raised by strong men in their last agony. And wives now widowed look and look in vain For those whose manly arms provided food, And orphaned children cry, and ask again Why father does not come home as he should, And mothers, sisters, sit and silent weep, For those whose grave is the remorseless deep. J.H.J.