Classic Poem

How dark is the night! no planet is gleaming,
To light the lost mariner over the wave;
How dark is my fortune! no sunshine is beaming
From Hope, on the poor galley slave.
The mariner waits till the morning is breaking,
When daylight shall point him his path to the shore;
By night and by day the poor galley slave, waking,
Must sigh as he tugs at the oar.

Though cold be the storm on the wand'rer descending,
And chill be the tempests that over him blow,
Still Hope on this storm some few bright rays is blending,
And smiles on the dark cloud of woe.
But never shall Hope, to the poor galley slave,
His friends or the love of his bosom restore;
No, never, the wretch, till he sleeps in the grave,
Must sigh as he tugs at the oar.

And oft, as around him the billows were roaring,
He struggled to sweep his broad oar through the wave,
I've marked him in tears his lost freedom deploring,
I've marked the poor heart-broken slave.
" Ah! ne'er shall I meet my lost friends, " he was crying;
" O, ne'er shall my woes and my sorrows be o'er! "
Then faintly his voice on his pallid lips dying,
He sighed as he tugged at the oar.

When nature has sunk, and the poor galley slave,
In short broken slumbers, is resting from pain,
He dreams that he crosses the far distant wave,
And meets with his Mary again.
But soon from his slumber in anguish awaking,
His fond dream of love and pleasure is o'er,
And leaves him with naught, while his full heart is breaking,
But to sigh as he tugs at the oar.