Classic Poem

The pale and ancient moon is weeping
Her cheek more pale on the wild night-sky,
Like a hunted thing the gust comes leaping,
Snatching a bough as it hurries by.

The fierce old ocean booms and hammers,
And casts its spray to the sea-gull's fair:
She shrieks in her dream, and the hoarse shrill clamours
Of all drowned seamen cry with her.

The lighthouse brands the waves that, yelling,
Start up red in the far-flung glow,
But the hut above is the Wrecker's dwelling,
The Kelpie bides in the cave below.

One night the flash of the Wrecker's pistol
Shall kindle fire where fires betray,
And the Kelpie flit to the dome of crystal,
And blow the faithful light away.

Woe to stout ship and seaman merry!
Woe to the maid with wondrous hair,
Whose limbs the Kelpie's grot shall bury,
Whose gems the Wrecker's wife shall wear!