Peter John Allan - A Fragment

Away, o'er the ocean depths, away,
Like a vulture fierce when he scents his prey,
The pirate ship is gone!
The sable flag its shadow threw
O'er the darkened brows of a blood-stained crew,
As night's a churchyard on.

Each eye had seen the life-blood flow,
Each ear had heard the shrieks of woe,
Each hand had struck the fatal blow,
That godless crew among;
Each had the mark of wicked Cain,
Each had the everlasting stain,
That unto Judas, the God-slayer, clung.

Ripe for the pangs of hell they stood,
Each viper of that demon brood,
On ocean's trackless solitude,
Beneath an outraged Heaven.
Often before as they had sailed,
Now all their courage strangely failed,
To memory's dismal vaults their souls were driven.

Thought is a hell to sinful men,
A torment far beyond the ken
Of the earth-shackled mind;
The wicked in a moment dree
The pains of an eternity,
That would for death be joyfully resigned.

Ha! why with fixed and glazing eye
Doth yonder pirate scan the sky?
What sees the murderer there?
The dews start thick upon his brow,
He points with trembling finger now,
And mutters, 'twixt his close-clenched teeth,
'Despair!'

Lo! from a shadowy cloud, a hand
Stretches afar a fiery brand,
O'er that doom'd bark; and there,
Along its blade in letters seven,
That fill with ghastly light the heaven,
All horror-shook, they trace the word 'Despair!'

On every side the murmuring waves
Ope their black breasts like yawning graves;
The winds howl drearily;
They can but see that awful word,
Conscience' deep voice alone is heard,
O'erta'en they feel, too late, they cannot flee.

Peter John Allan

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