The Shipwreck

The silver moon the clouds looks through,
Her beams upon the waters float;
And midst the gathering mist and dew
The mariner has launch’d his boat.

And in that moonlight’s placid ray
His course across the deep he takes;
The welcoming port before him lay,
And in his bosom joy awakes.

But oh! he dashes on a rock--
His voice is choked--his eye is dim;
A moment struggling ’gainst the shock,
And then--the waves o’er-mantle him.

’Tis but life’s picture--for the tomb
Drags all things to its desolate cell:
Hope is a flower of morning’s bloom--
And love and friendship----fare ye well!