The ocean frowned darkly, the tempest blew,
And the thunders heavily rolled;
The billow, late trembling with cerulean hue,
Now blackening in anger was scrolled. 'Twas sad, for borne on the echo of night,
Came the voice of the furious blast;
'Twas drear, for no ray lent its beacon light,
Save the lightning that fearfully passed. 'Twas lonely, for nought could the wind-god descry,
Save the barque that breasted the foam;
In the moanings of midnight, the mariner's cry
Was heard, bewailing his home. The fires of home burn bright, but ne'er
Shall they shine on the mariner's grave;
The smiles of affection, the prattlers are there,
But the father lies cold in the wave.