As slow our boat the water thro'
Is stealing on the breeze,
The curving sky a tender blue,
A deeper blue the seas;
We mark whereon the western edge
A band of coast is seen,
Where juts the cape and slopes the ledge,
A port is shut between.
On either side a sudden rise
Of black and broken rock
Thrusts out an arm that well defies
The frantic ocean's shock;
And from its point the sunken reef
Runs out a mile or more,
Where many a ship has come to grief
When breaking breakers roar.
Long, long ago, in sudden wrath
A storm burst on this land;
It caught a fleet within its path--
An admiral in command.
For three black days they fought the gale,
Then one by one they wore--
And reft of spar and stripped of sail
Went smashing on that shore.
Where red and rough the land-slip beach
Is touched by tiny waves--
Beyond the winter breaker's reach
They dug their shallow graves;
And with a prayer that half expressed
The sorrow that they knew,
They laid the admiral there to rest
Surrounded by his crew.
But, ah, to-day is sweet--and lo,
The ocean is at rest,
Save for a breathing low and slow
Of wind across its breast.
Far out beyond the cloudy forms
Are anchored on the edge--
It is no time to talk of storms,
Of wrecks upon the ledge.