What were it now to toss upon the waves—
The madden’d waves, and know no succour near;
The howling of the storm alone to hear,
And the wild sea that to the tempest raves;
To gaze amid the horrors of the night,
And only see the billows’ gleaming light;
And in the dread of death to think of her
Who, as she listens sleepless to the gale,
Puts up a silent prayer and waxes pale?
O God! have mercy on the mariner!