  Afar the timid moonbeams shyly creep Behind a purple pall of clouds so drear, It smites the captain's loyal heart with fear; Vainly would he a keener vigil keep, Yet few would dream the traitor, Danger, near, Till through yon misty curtain clean and clear And swift the gleaming lights of death appear, Twin-born. Alas! men waken from sweet sleep Too late to seek escape; the vessel thrills In ev'ry nerve, an almost human groan Wells from her tortured breast; she reels, she fills. A hundred anguished souls for mercy moan— But kindly, Time, the storm of terror stills |
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