The New Abelard. Robert Williams Buchanan

      PROEM

       Table of Contents

      Shipwreck … What succour?—

      On the gnawing rocks

      The ship grinds to and fro with thunder-shocks,

      And thro’ her riven sides with ceaseless rush

      The foam-fleck’d waters gush:

      Above, the soot-black sky; around, the roar

      Of surges smiting on some unseen shore;

      Beneath, the burial-place of rolling waves—

      Flowerless, for ever shifting, wind-dug graves!

      A moment on the riven deck he stands,

      Praying to Heaven with wild uplifted hands,

      Then sees across the liquid wall afar

      A glimmer like a star;

      The lighthouse gleam! Upon the headland black

      The beacon burns and fronts the stormy wrack—

      Sole speck of light on gulfs of darkness, where

      Thunder the sullen breakers of despair …

      The ship is gone … Now in that gulf of death

      He swims and struggles on with failing breath:

      He grasps a plank—it sinks—too frail to upbear

      His leaden load of care;

      Another and another—straws!—they are gone!

      He cries aloud, stifles, and struggles on;

      For still thro’ voids of gloom his straining sight

      Sees the sad glimmer of a steadfast light!

      He gains the rocks … What shining hands are these,

      Reached out to pluck him from the cruel seas?

      What shape is this, that clad in raiment blest

      Now draws him to its breast! …

      Ah, Blessed One, still keeping, day and night,

      The lamp well trimm’d, the heavenly beacon bright,

      He knows Thee now!—he feels the sheltering gleam—

      And lo! the night of storm dissolves in dream!