Classic Poem

The winds are piping loud to-night,
And the waves roll strong and high;
God pity the watchful mariner
Who toils 'neath yonder sky!

I saw the vessel speed away,
With a free, majestic sweep,
At evening as the sun went down
To his palace in the deep.

An aged crone sat on the beach,
And, pointing to the ship,
'She'll never return again,' she said,
With a scorn upon her lip.

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The morning rose tempestuous,
The winds blew to the shore,
There were corpses on the sands that morn,
But the ship came nevermore!