AT SEA.
Afar the timid moonbeams shyly creep
Behind a purple pall of clouds so drear,
It smites the captain's loyal heart with fear;
Vainly would he a keener vigil keep,
Yet few would dream the traitor, Danger, near,
Till through yon misty curtain clean and clear
And swift the gleaming lights of death appear,
Twin-born. Alas! men waken from sweet sleep
Too late to seek escape; the vessel thrills
In ev'ry nerve, an almost human groan
Wells from her tortured breast; she reels, she fills.
A hundred anguished souls for mercy moan—
But kindly, Time, the storm of terror stills
And meek Diana treads the night alone.