Night And Morning.

The winds are piping loud to-night,
And the waves roll strong and high;
God pity the watchful mariner
Who toils 'neath yonder sky!

I saw the vessel speed away,
With a free, majestic sweep,
At evening as the sun went down
To his palace in the deep.

An aged crone sat on the beach,
And, pointing to the ship,
"She'll never return again," she said,
With a scorn upon her lip.

            -    -    -

The morning rose tempestuous,
The winds blew to the shore,
There were corpses on the sands that morn,
But the ship came nevermore!

Charles Sangster

Charles Sangster was a Canadian poet born on July 16, 1822, in Kingston, Ontario. Sangster is considered one of Canada's first poets of significance, and his work often reflects the Canadian wilderness and nationalist themes. Known for his collections "The St. Lawrence and the Saguenay" and "Hesperus and Other Poems and Lyrics," Sangster's poetry demonstrates a deep connection to Canadian landscapes and identity. He died on December 9, 1893. His contributions helped lay the foundation for future Canadian literature.

Charles Sangster

Dedicatory Poem.

Charles Sangster, Simple Poetry

Sonnet: - XXII.

Charles Sangster, Simple Poetry

The Plains Of Abraham.

Charles Sangster, Simple Poetry

A Thought For Spring.

Charles Sangster, Simple Poetry

English

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The Merchant Ship

The sun oer the waters was throwing
In the freshness of morning its beams;
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With glittering silvery streams:
A bark in the distance was bounding
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Came over and over the sea.
The breezes blew fair and were guiding
Her swiftly along on her track,
And the billows successively passing,
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The sailors seemed busy preparing
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Were hauld from their prisons to light.
Each rope and each brace was attended
By stout-hearted sons of the main,
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Wrecked

The winds are singing a death-knell
Out on the main to-night;
The sky droops low -- and many a bark
That sailed from harbors bright,
    Like many an one before,
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And a wreck shall drift to some unknown shore
Before to-morrow's light.

The clouds are hanging a death-pall
Over the sea to-night;
The stars are veiled -- and the hearts that sailed
Away from harbors bright,
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And, sobbing, sink 'neath the whirling foam
Before the morning's light.

The waves are weaving a death-shroud
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By lips with terror white!
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By The Sea-Shore At Night.

Oh lapping waves!--oh gnawing waves!--
    That rest not day nor night,--
    I hear ye when the light
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All day the winds were out, and rode
    Their steeds, your tossing crest,--
    To-night the fierce winds rest,
And the moon walks above them her bright road.

Yet none the less ye lift your hands,
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Oh sapping waves!--oh mining waves!--
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The Wreck Of The `Derry Castle'

Day of ending for beginnings!
Ocean hath another innings,
Ocean hath another score;
And the surges sing his winnings,
And the surges shout his winnings,
And the surges shriek his winnings,
All along the sullen shore.

Sing another dirge in wailing,
For another vessel sailing
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Shadow-ships for ever sinking,
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And whose thirsty holds are drinking
Pledges to Eternity.

Pray for souls of ghastly, sodden
Corpses, floating round untrodden
Cliffs, where nought but sea-drift strays;
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.    .    .    .    .

Ocean's salty tongues are...

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The Derelict.

North and south with the fickle tides,
    With the wind from east to west,
The death-ship follows her track of doom,
    But finds no port or rest.

Day after day the far white sails
    Come up and glimmer and die,
And night by night the twinkling lights
    Crawl down the distant sky.

Day after day her black hull lifts
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And the white birds cling to her rotting shrouds
    Like prayers of a stricken soul,

But ever the death-ship keeps her track
    While the ships of men sail on,
For God is her skipper and helmsman, too,
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The Shadow Boatswain

Don't you know the sailing orders?
It is time to put to sea,
And the stranger in the harbor
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With the thunder of her canvas
Coming on the wind again,
I can hear the Shadow Boatswain
Piping to his shadow men.

Is it firelight or morning,
That red flicker on the floor?
Your good-by was braver, sweetheart,
When I sailed away before.

Think of this last lovely summer!
Love, what ails the wind to-night?
What's he saying in the chimney
Turns your berry cheek so white?

What a morning! How the sunlight
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Where the brig lies waiting for me
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