He sank as the sun on a May-day’s close:
He rose as the sun with beams tricked anew,
When flowers bend with beauty, and leaves with dew.
We crossed the path of a beautiful bark,
How many the corses, all stiff and stark!
Down sank the vessel beneath the wild wave,
No hand was near one poor soul to save!
We glanced at a ship by an iceberg crushed,
We gazed but a moment—then all was hushed.
We asked of a miser to yield up his gold,