The night was clear and mild,
  And the breeze went softly by,
  And the stars of heaven smiled
  As they wandered up the sky;
And there rode a gallant ship on the wave---
  But many a hapless wight
  Slept the sleep of death that night,
  And before the morning light
  Found a grave!

  All were sunk in soft repose,
  Save the watch upon the deck:
  Not a boding dream arose
  Of the horrors of the wreck,
To the mother, or the child, or the sire;
  Till a shriek of woe profound,
  Like a death-knell echoed round---
  With a wild and dismal sound,
  A shriek of "Fire!"

  Now the flames are spreading fast---
  With resistless rage they fly,


  Up the shrouds and up the mast,
  And are flickering to the sky;
Now the deck is all a-blaze; now the rails---
  There's no place to rest their feet;
  Fore and aft the torches meet,
  And a wingèd lightning-sheet
  Are the sails.

  No one heard the cry of woe
  But the sea-bird that flew by;
  There was hurrying to and fro,
  But no hand to save was nigh;
Still before the burning foe they were driven---
  Last farewells were uttered there,
  With a wild and frenzied stare,
  And a short and broken prayer
  Sent to Heaven.

  Some leap over in the flood
  To the death that waits them there;
  Others quench the flames with blood,
  And expire in open air;
Some, a moment to escape from the grave,
  On the bowsprit take a stand;
  But their death is near at hand---
  Soon they hug the burning brand
  On the wave.

  From his briny ocean-bed,
  When the morning sun awoke,
  Lo, that gallant ship had fled!
  And a sable cloud of smoke
Was the monumental pyre that remained;


  But the sea gulls round it fly,
  With a quick and fearful cry,
  And the brands that floated by
  Blood had stained.