Crashed the flaming blocks and spars;
Loud as surf, when winds are strong,
Wailed the scorched and stricken throng,
Gazing on a rugged shore,
Fires behind, and seas before.
On the charred and reeling prow
Reft of hope, they gather now,
Finding, one by one, a grave
In the vexed and sullen wave.
Here the child, as if in sleep,