"We cursed the dire disease that spread, Those godless men did quake with dread, "And so we drank, and drank the more, "Another morn, but one the bark Lurched heavy on her way The steersman shrieked, 'Hell's not so dark As this dull murky day.' "We looked and red through films of blood "Then each alone his hammock made, As the wild beast his lair, Nor friend his nearest friend would aid, "Yet every eve some eyes did close, Upon the sunset bright, And when the glorious morn arose, "Till I, the only man, the last "I felt it film, I felt it grow, "The sea was all a wavering fog, The wandering wild-fire damp. "And there we lay, and on we drove, Oh! cruel grace of Him above, "And some began to pray for fear, "And some would fondly speak of home, The wife's, the infant's kiss; Great God! that parents e'er should come On such a trade as this! 'And some I heard plunge down beneath, Oh! how my spirit yearned for death, "We heard the wild and frantic shriek Of starving men below, We heard them strive their bonds to break, And burst the hatches now. "We thought we heard them on the stair, And trampling on the deck, I almost felt their blind despair, Again I woke, and yet again, "A lawless, execrable thought, "No more, - my brain can bear no more,- "And all, save I alone, could die Thus on death's verge and brink All thoughtless, feelingless, could lie I still must feel and think. "At length, when ages had passed o'er There came a shock, and then a roar "I know not how, when next I woke, "Again I woke, and living men Stood round a Christian crew; The first, the last, of joy was then, That since those days I knew. "I've been, I know, since that black tide, Where raving madmen lay, Above, beneath, on ev'ry side, And I as mad as they. "And I shall be where never dies The worm, nor slakes the flame, When those two hundred souls shall rise, The Judge's wrath to claim. "I'd rather rave in that wild room, Than see what I have seen; I'd rather meet my final doom, Than be where I have been. "Priest, I've not seen thy loathing face, I've heard thy gasps of fear; Away no word of hope or grace I may not will not hear! " THOSE EVENING BELLS. BY THOMAS MOORE. THOSE evening bells! those evening bells! Of youth, and home, and that sweet time Those joyous hours are past away! And so 't will be when I am gone; |