Like a sheeted ghost, the vessel swept
Towards the reef of Norman’s Woe.
And ever the fitful gusts between
A sound came from the land;
It was the sound of the trampling surf,
On the rocks and the hard sea-sand.
The breakers were right beneath her bows,—
She drifted a dreary wreck,
And the whooping billow swept the crew
Like icicles from her deck.