C.D. Warner, et al., comp.
The Library of the World’s Best Literature. An Anthology in Thirty Volumes. 1917.
The Shipwreck
By Lord Byron (17881824)
’T
Over the waste of waters; like a veil
Which, if withdrawn, would but disclose the frown
Of one whose hate is masked but to assail;
Thus to their hopeless eyes the night was shown,
And grimly darkled o’er their faces pale,
And the dim desolate deep: twelve days had Fear
Been their familiar, and now Death was here.
There was no light in heaven but a few stars;
The boats put off, o’ercrowded with their crews:
She gave a heel, and then a lurch to port,
And going down head foremost—sunk, in short.
Then shrieked the timid and stood still the brave;
Then some leaped overboard with dreadful yell,
As eager to anticipate their grave;
And the sea yawned around her like a hell,
And down she sucked with her the whirling wave,
Like one who grapples with his enemy,
And tries to strangle him before he die.
Louder than the loud ocean, like a crash
Of echoing thunder: and then all was hushed,
Save the wild wind and the remorseless dash
Of billows; but at intervals there gushed,
Accompanied with a convulsive splash,
A solitary shriek—the bubbling cry
Of some strong swimmer in his agony.