Half the dripping thatch submerges !
Breaking faintly through the gloom,
Lo, the feeble taper gleameth,
Flieth fast from room to room,
Through each narrow casement streameth !
They would save their household store —
Hurriedly aloft they bear it,
Pile it high above the floor,
So perchance the flood may spare it !
Silent then, with awe-struck look,
Close they press, while o'er them dashes
Wave on wave, with thundering shock,
And, beneath, the frail shed crashes.
Where is Wolfe ? upon the down
Still he stands with soul unshaken ;
Ocean's rage, the sky's wild frown,
Not a thought of fear can waken.
Cloven billows, higher, higher,
Round his pigmy isle are springing ;