A GREYPORT LEGEND. (1797.) HEY ran through the streets of the seaport town; THEY They peered from the decks of the ships that lay: The cold sea-fog that came whitening down Was never as cold or white as they. "Ho, Starbuck and Pinckney and Tenterden ! Run for your shallops, gather your men, Scatter your boats on the lower bay." Good cause for fear! In the thick midday The hulk that lay by the rotting pier, Filled with the children in happy play, Parted its moorings, and drifted clear, Drifted clear beyond the reach or call, Thirteen children they were in all, Said a hard-faced skipper, "God help us all! Said his wife, "My darling will hear my call, And she lifted a quavering voice and high, Wild and strange as a sea-bird's cry, Till they shuddered and wondered at her side. The fog drove down on each laboring crew, Veiled each from each and the sky and shore: There was not a sound but the breath they drew, And they felt the breath of the downs, fresh blown But not from the lips that had gone before. They come no more. But they tell the tale, For the signal they know will bring relief: In a phantom hulk that drifts alway Through channels whose waters never fail. It is but a foolish shipman's tale, A theme for a poet's idle page; |