Ypsilanti Sentinel

Onward the vessel bears, like some huge chief,
Who, press'd by numbers, slowly shuns the ray:
Sternly defying the appalling reef
She flings aside, as if in scorn, its spray.
But still urged slowly on her desperate way
By wave succeeding wave, the rock she nears;
The waters round in eddying whirlpools play,
She strikes! she groans! the yawning rent appears!
Whilst o'er her pride the sea, its crest triumphant rears.
Hark! frantic horror shrieks along her deck!
The brave are silent, but their brows are pale;
They gaze desponding on the severing wreck,
And turn their anguished faces to the gale
That howls their funeral dirge. Of no avail
To them is now the near and craggy shore
Whose mocking echoes give them back the wail
Of the weak-hearted--in the breakers' roar!
The voice of hope is drown'd: home is for them no more.
Hands of friends are wrung; the hurried pray'r
Of those unused to pray, is mutter'd low;
Some strip, and for the rav'ning surge prepare,
And some of the pious resignation show
Of the tried spirit long inured to woe:
See, all remote, a trembling mother weeps,
While to her breast her first born seems to grow
As to the moaning winds she rocking keeps,
Blest omen to all, serene the infant sleeps!
For that unwean'd sweet, unsinning child,
The bolt of wrath may harmlessly be sped:
It may--it will. The gale has grown less wild;
A light less lurid from the Heav'ns is shed:
Arouse ye all, as waken'd from the dead!
A fearless boat comes bounding o'er the sea,
Its oars are out, its storm-reef'd sail is spread;
Where danger is, there British hearts will be—
The life-boat's on the wave--the peril'd shall be free!
The sea-imprison'd crew, with hope renew'd
Now cheer their saviours on, and hoarsely shout
Those heroes in the boat, with features rude,
And hearts as kindly as their frames are stout
Their way push bravely through the briny rout
The small mast bends, but not their purpose brave;
The thorough seaman on his subject wave
Fell Death alone can stop, when pressing on to save.
Gold for the brave!--joy to the rescued crew!
The wreck is left; the deep hath lost its prey.
To the redeeming babe be honour due!
Th' enraptured mother many a future day
Shall, as she wipes the tear of joy away,
How they were saved, relate. All she confess
That nought the meed of bravery can repay,
Like the sweet smiles of those that round shall press—
The newly-pluck'd from death, their homes once more to bless.