The night was clear and mild,
And the breeze went softly by,
And the stars of heaven smiled
As they wandered up the sky;
And there rode a gallant ship on the wave---
But many a hapless wight
Slept the sleep of death that night,
And before the morning light
Found a grave!
All were sunk in soft repose,
Save the watch upon the deck:
Not a boding dream arose
Of the horrors of the wreck,
To the mother, or the child, or the sire;
Till a shriek of woe profound,
Like a death-knell echoed round---
With a wild and dismal sound,
A shriek of "Fire!"
Now the flames are spreading fast---
With resistless rage they fly,
Up the shrouds and up the mast,
And are flickering to the sky;
Now the deck is all a-blaze; now the rails---
There's no place to rest their feet;
Fore and aft the torches meet,
And a wingèd lightning-sheet
Are the sails.
No one heard the cry of woe
But the sea-bird that flew by;
There was hurrying to and fro,
But no hand to save was nigh;
Still before the burning foe they were driven---
Last farewells were uttered there,
With a wild and frenzied stare,
And a short and broken prayer
Sent to Heaven.
Some leap over in the flood
To the death that waits them there;
Others quench the flames with blood,
And expire in open air;
Some, a moment to escape from the grave,
On the bowsprit take a stand;
But their death is near at hand---
Soon they hug the burning brand
On the wave.
From his briny ocean-bed,
When the morning sun awoke,
Lo, that gallant ship had fled!
And a sable cloud of smoke
Was the monumental pyre that remained;
But the sea gulls round it fly,
With a quick and fearful cry,
And the brands that floated by
Blood had stained.