172 THE VALE OF LANHERNE. 



Such was the semblance of that gallant crew, • 

 As to the sands they steered the raging surges through. 



She strikes — she shudders in the breaker's grasp, 

 Bursts from the crags the awe-struck landsmen's cry ; 

 Their hands the crew in solemn farewell clasp. 

 See, she recovers yet, surmounting high 

 The o'erwhelming surge, she almost seems to fly ! 

 Ah ! brief the respite to those brave men given ; 

 Hope almost kindles in the steersman's eye, 

 When lo ! the Sloop, her thrice-reefed canvass riven, 

 Beneath the gulfing wave a crewless hull is driven. 



A mournful tale around each rustic hearth 

 That night was told, and many a gentle tear 

 Fell for the dauntless crew, the bark's warm berth 

 That night exchanged for Ocean's billowy bier; 

 While hearts that held those hardy seamen dear. 

 In some far haven in fond hope reposed. 

 Tales of distress unending might one hear 

 That stormy night, while sluggish farmers dosed. 

 Where round the faggots bright the group of gossips closed. 



The morn dawned sweetly on a tranquil sea. 

 That scarcely rippled to the Southern gale; 

 The surges murmured soft and mournfully, 

 And plaintive echoes through Lanherne's still vale 

 Prolonged the sea-shore's melancholy tale. 

 Soon to the beach the village train repair. 

 And many a hand points where the gallant sail 

 First loomed upon the waves — no sail is there, 

 A few dissevered spars a sad memento bear. 



Beneath was seen descending to the beach. 

 By stealthy paths, a rogue of olden time; 

 Now lost a moment 'neath the rocky reach — 

 Emerging to the view, now see him climb 

 Round the bare cliff with ease : grey locks begrime 

 His weather-beaten and ill-favored face. 

 Where wrinkles register long years of crime. 

 Now on the sands he steps with bolder pace. 

 And prowls along the shore, last of his felon race. 



But shattered spars the hoary wrecker finds ; 

 He seizes one, and up the steep ascends ; 



