WRECK OF THE GLOUCESTER
The ship Gloucester sank in sight of land near Boston harbor, some ninety years ago. A young merchant, whose name I have forgotten, had a wife and brother on board, and was also part owner of the ship and cargo. He saw the Gloucester from South Boston heights, when she foundered, in a furious gale. From that time until his death he was a mild maniac, watching the sea and wandering up and down the beach, especially in rough weather. He lived to the age of eighty.
THE shrieking winds are up and away,
And a bent old man with locks of gray
Watches the clouds through the blinding spray.
For fifty years, when the winds were high,
He has walked the sands and watched the sky,
With maundering step and restless eye.
Crooning and muttering o’er and o’er
The tale of a ship that sailed from shore,
And returned to port—ah, nevermore!
A noble ship. And centered there
Was all that he held most dear and fair.
She sank; and his life was a blank despair.
It is fifty years since he heard the toll
Of the good ship’s bell, and over his soul
The waters swept with a heavy roll.
Wandering vacantly to and fro,
Watching the ships that come and go,
And the white crowned waters ebb and flow.
Out in the offing, side by side,
Bride and brother, brother and bride,
They rise and sink with the sobbing tide.