ONLY a broken rudder, only a ruin'd sail— Only a shatter'd topmast, only a sea-bird's wail.

Here is the good ship's pinnace—all of her that is left— There are the yards and rigging—a tangled woof and weft.

Yonder, among the breakers, a seaman's jacket's tost; And here's the logbook drifting, its leaves all stiff with frost.

We fir'd the guns in warning—the Abbey bells were rung— The beacon fires burn'd redly, and gleaming shadows flung; But fell the snow so thickly, it hid the port-fire's light, And on the rocks she hurtled—God spared us from the sight.

All lost 1 Of twenty sailors not one is saved, 1 wis— Hist! Rover! in, old fellow, and tell me what is this.

*Tis little Jem, the 'prentice—his mother lives close by; She dreamt yestreen (she told me) her little son would die! From the Gentleman's Magazine.