The rope is good, the stout arms pull
Ere the storm-lull is o'er;
'Tis but a swift and blinding sweep
Through waters wild and dark and deep—
The men are safe on shore—
Safe! though the fiend-like blast pursue;
Safe! though the waves dash high;
But the ringing cheer that rises clear
Is checked with a sudden cry:—
"There are but four upon the shore,