Proem to 'The New Abelard'

Shipivreck . . . What succour? —
On the gnawing rock,
The ship grinds to and fro with thunder-shocks,
And thro' her riven sides with ceaseless rush
The foam-fleck'd waters gush:
Above, the soot-black sky; around, the roar
Of surges smiting on some unseen shore;
Beneath, the burial-place of rolling waves —
Flowerless, for ever shifting, wind-dug graves!
A moment on the riven deck he stands,
Praying to Heaven with wild uplifted hands,
Then sees across the liquid wall afar
A glimmer like a star;
The lighthouse gleam! Upon the headland black
The beacon burns and fronts the stormy wrack—
Sole speck of light On gulfs of darkness, where
Thunder the sullen breakers of despair . . .
The ship is gone . . . Now in that gulf of death
He swims and struggles on with failing breath:
He grasps a plank— it sinks— too frail to upbear
His leaden load of care;
Another and another — straws! — they are gone!
He cries aloud, stifles, and struggles on;
For still thro" voids of gloom his straining sight
Sees the sad glimmer of a steadfast light!
He gains the rocks . . . What shining hands are these
Reached out to pluck him from the cruel seas?
What shape is this, that clad in raiment blest
Now draws him to its breast? . . .
Ah, Blessed One, still keeping, day and night,
The lamp well trimmed, the heavenly beacon bright,
He knows Thee now! — he feels the shelter-ing gleam —
And lo! the night of storm dissolves in dream!