The Fatal Ship

Down the deep sea, full fourscore fathoms down,
An iron vault hath clutched five hundred men !
They died not, like the nations, one by one:
A thrill ! a bounding pulse ! a shout ! and then
Five hundred hearts stood still, at once, nor beat again !

That night the Angel of the Lord beheld
A vast battalion of the gliding dead :
Souls that came up where seething surges quelled
Their stately ship — their throne — and now the bed
Where they shall wait, in shrouded sleep, the Morn of Dread!

Fast slept the sailor-boy ! A silent dream
Soften'd his brow with smiles — his mother's face
Droops over him — and her soft kisses seem
Warm on his cheek : what severs that embrace ?
Death ! strangling death ! — alive — a conscious burial-place !

And he, the kingly mind, whose skill had planned
That lordly bastion of the world of wave ?
But yesterday he stood, in proud command,
And now a thing of nought, where ocean raves
Above his shuddering sepulchre in the weedy caves !

The monsters of the sea will glide and glare :
Baffled Leviathan shall roar in vain :
The Sea Kings of the Isles are castled there :
They man that silent fortress of the main :
Yea! in the realms of death their dust shall rule and reign !

Lord Yahvah of the Waters ! Thou wert there !
Thy presence shone throughout that dark abode :
Thy mighty touch assuaged the last despair :
Their pulses paused in the calm midst of God :
Their souls, amid surrounding Angels, went abroad !