The Beacon In The Storm

 ("Quels sont ces bruits sourds?") 
 
 {XXIV., July 17, 1836.} 


 Hark to that solemn sound! 
 It steals towards the strand.— 
 Whose is that voice profound 
 Which mourns the swallowed land, 
 With moans, 
 Or groans, 
 New threats of ruin close at hand? 
 It is Triton—the storm to scorn 
 Who doth wind his sonorous horn. 
 
 How thick the rain to-night! 
 And all along the coast 
 The sky shows naught of light 
 Is it a storm, my host? 
 Too soon 
 The boon 
 Of pleasant weather will be lost 
 Yes, 'tis Triton, etc. 
 
 Are seamen on that speck 
 Afar in deepening dark? 
 Is that a splitting deck 
 Of some ill-fated bark? 
 Fend harm! 
 Send calm! 
 O Venus! show thy starry spark! 
 Though 'tis Triton, etc. 
 
 The thousand-toothèd gale,— 
 Adventurers too bold!— 
 Rips up your toughest sail 
 And tears your anchor-hold. 
 You forge 
 Through surge, 
 To be in rending breakers rolled. 
 While old Triton, etc. 
 
 Do sailors stare this way, 
 Cramped on the Needle's sheaf, 
 To hail the sudden ray 
 Which promises relief? 
 Then, bright; 
 Shine, light! 
 Of hope upon the beacon reef! 
 Though 'tis Triton, etc. 


 

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