While terror and wild confusion are seen in every eye:
Hark[249] to the trampling overhead! to the rudder’s rattling chain!
To the shrieks that come from the cabin, where the women still remain!
One blinding flash![250] one shudder! now everything is still,
Save the swash[251] of the flowing river, and the sigh of the night wind[252] chill.
The papers were full of the story, ’twas their theme for a day or more,
Then the tale grew old and the world rolled on as smoothly as before.
In a lowly home by the river[253] live a woman and her son,
And the lines on their patient faces show what toil and care have done:
They stand with a priest and surgeon, near the bed of a dying man,