As slow our boat the water thro'
Is stealing on the breeze,
The curving sky a tender blue,
A deeper blue the seas;
We mark whereon the western edge
A band of coast is seen,
Where juts the cape and slopes the ledge,
A port is shut between.
On either side a sudden rise
Of black and broken rock
Thrusts out an arm that well defies
The frantic ocean's shock;
And from its point the sunken reef
Runs out a mile or more,
Where many a ship has come to grief

When breaking breakers roar.
Long, long ago, in sudden wrath
A storm burst on this land;
It caught a fleet within its path—
An admiral in command.
For three black days they fought the gale,
Then one by one they wore—
And reft of spar and stripped of sail
Went smashing on that shore.
Where red and rough the land-slip beach
Is touched by tiny waves—
Beyond the winter breaker's reach
They dug their shallow graves;
And with a prayer that half expressed
The sorrow that they knew,
They laid the admiral there to rest
Surrounded by his crew.
But, ah, to-day is sweet—and lo,
The ocean is at rest,
Save for a breathing low and slow

Of wind across its breast.
Far out beyond the cloudy forms
Are anchored on the edge—
It is no time to talk of storms,

Of wrecks upon the ledge.