The storm-wind moans through branches bare;
The snow flies wildly through the air;
The mad waves roar, as fierce and high
They toss their crests against the sky.
Dark and desolate lies the sand
Along the wastes of a barren land;
And rushing on, with sheets flung free,
A ship sails down from the northern sea.
With lips pressed hard the helmsman stands,
Grasping the spokes with freezing hands,
While white the reef lies in his path,
Swept by an ocean full of wrath.
The surf-roar in the blast is lost;
The foam-flakes by the wild wind tost
High up in air, no warning show,
Hid by the driving mass of snow.
With sudden bound and sullen grate,
The brave ship rushes to her fate,
And splintered deck and broken mast
Make homage to the roaring blast.
Amid the waves float riven plank,
And rope and sail with moisture dank;
And faces gleaming stern and white
Shine dimly in the storm-filled night.
By some bright river far away,
Fond hearts are wondering where they stay
Who sleep along the wave-washed shore
And stormy reefs of Labrador.