The clouds arose in a giant shape, And the wind with a piercing gust— Dark as a murderer's mask of crape, And sharp as a poniard-thrust.
Thicker and wider the gloom stretch'd out, With a flush of angry red; Till the hissing lightning blazed about, And the forest bent its head.
A maiden look'd from a lattice-pane Toward where the ocean lay; And her gaze was fix'd with earnest strain On the beacon, leagues away.
She knew that he who had won her soul Was getting close to land; And she clutched at every thunder roll With a hard, convulsive hand.
He had promised he would sail no more To far and fearful climes; He had talk'd of a cottage on the shore, And the sound of wedding chimes.
They had loved each other many a year, They had grown up side by side; She had reckon'd the days—his ship must be near— He was coming to claim his bride.
An old crone pass'd the lattice-pane,— "God help us all!" quoth she; 'Tis bad on the mountain, but worse on the main,— 'Tis a wild night at sea!"
The maiden heard, but never stirr'd Her gaze from the beacon lamp; Her heart alone felt a sepulchre-stone Roll up to it, heavy and damp.
A gray-hair'd mariner look'd around,— "Here's a wind," cried he: "May God preserve the homeward bound; "Tis a wild night at sea!"
The maiden heard, yet never stirr'd Her eyes from the distant part; But shadow was thrown upon the stone, And the stone was over her heart.
The Lightning blades fenced fierce and long; The Blast wings madly flew; But Morning came, with the skylark's song, And an arch of spotless blue.
Morning came with a tale too true, As sad as tale could be: "A homeward bound" went down with her crew,— "'Twas a wild night at sea!"
The maiden heard, yet never stirr'd, Nor eye, nor lip, nor brow; But moss had grown on the sepulchre-stone, And it cover'd a skeleton now.
******
Summer and Winter came and went, With their frosty and flowery time; Autumn branches lusciously bent, And Spring buds had their prime.
The maiden still is in her home; But not a word breathes she; Save those that seal'd her spirit doom, "Tis a wild night at sea!"
The hedgerow thorn is out again, And her cheek is as pale as the bloom; She bears a wound whose bleeding pain Can only be stanched by the tomb.
Children show her the violet bed, And where young doves will be; But they hear her say, as she boweth her head, —"'Tis a wild night at sea!"
She may be seen at the lattice-pane When the climbing moon is bright; With the gaze distraught of a dreaming brain Toward the beacon height.
There's not a cloud a star to shroud, The song-birds haunt the tree; But she faintly sighs, as the dewdrops rise, —"'Tis a wild night at sea!"
Golden beams of a sunny June The work with light are filling; Till the roses fall asleep at noon O'er the draught of their own distilling:
The maiden walks where aspen stalks Only move with the moth and the bee; But she sigheth still, with shivering chill, —"'Tis a wild night at sea!"
Her beautiful Youth has wither'd away; Sorrow has eaten the core; But, weak and wan, she lingereth on Till the thorn is white once more.
There are bridal robes at the old church porch, And orange-bloom so fair; The merry bells say, 'tis a wedding-day, And the priest has bless'd the pair.
The maiden is under the churchyard yew, Watching with hollow eye; Till the merry bells race with faster pace, And the bridal robes go by.
She dances out to the ding-dong tune, She laughs with raving glee: And Death endeth the dream in her requiem scream, —"'Tis a wild night at sea!"
