| "Come hither! come hither, my little daughter, And do not tremble so; For I can weather the roughest gale, That ever wind did blow." He wrapped her warm in his seaman's coat, Against the stinging blast; He cut a rope from a broken spar, And bound her to the mast. |
| "O father! I hear the church-bells ring; O say, what may it be?"— "'Tis a fog-bell on a rock-bound coast!"— And he steered for the open sea. "O father! I hear the sound of guns; O say, what may it be?"— "Some ship in distress, that cannot live In such an angry sea!" |
| "O father! I see a gleaming light; O say, what may it be?" But the father answered never a word,— A frozen corpse was he. Lashed to the helm, all stiff and stark. With his face turned to the skies. The lantern gleamed through the gleaming snow On his fixed and glassy eyes. |