The Ship-Wrecked Sea-Boy Poem by Robert Anderson

'Tis night--all around me the chill blast is howling;
The harsh--screaming sea--bird now scar'd hovers nigh;
The voice of great Heav'n in loud thunder is rolling:
Alas! nor for shelter, nor rest can I fly!
I mark by the lightning's blue gleam the wreck floating,
Of her that long triumph'd o'er each threat'ning wave;
I, alone, to this rock, 'scap'd the merciless ocean,
While comrades, more blest, found a watery grave!

More blest! 'Tis not so! If unpitied I perish,
To me, some few hours for reflection are giv'n,
A hope for the grey dawn of morning I'll cherish;
We ne'er should arraign the decrees of Just Hfav'n!
How still'd seems the tempest!--Yon beauteous moon rising,
I'll gaze on, awhile, my sunk spirits to cheer:--
That sound! was it human?--again hark!--'tis coming!
Ah me!--the wild half--famish'd wolf I but hear!

My father, grown old!--my affectionate mother!
You'll look for poor Henry, but long watch in vain;
My sister! how lovely!--my helpless young brother!
Ne'er, ne'er will you share my caresses again!
With you, the long day will be spent in deep mourning;
The bones of the sea--boy must bleach on the shore!
Now dim grows my sight!--Oh! this fever'd brain's burning!
I come, welcome Death!--All my sorrows are o'er!