Grace Darling.
By Thomas Frederick Young
The steamer Forfarshire, one morn
Right gaily put to sea,
From Hull, in merry England,
To a Scottish town, Dundee.
The winds were fair, the waters calm,
And all on board were gay,
For sped the vessel quickly on,
Unharrass'd in her way.
All trim and neat the vessel look'd,
And strong, while, from on high
Her flag stream'd gaily, over those
Who deem'd no danger nigh.
So strong she look'd from stem to stern,
That all maintained that she
Would weather e'en the fiercest storm,
From Hull unto Dundee.
But bitterly deceiv'd were they,
When off North England's shore,
The vessel in a nor'-west gale,
Did labor more and more.
Her timbers creak'd, her engines mov'd
With weak, convulsive shocks,
And soon the ship, beyond control,
Rush'd madly on the rocks,
And then a lighthouse keeper saw
Her struggle with the waves,
And knew that soon, if came no help,
They'd find them wat'ry graves.
"What boat," he said, "could pass to them
O'er such a raging sea,
And e'en if I should venture out,
Oh! who would go with me"?
"Oh father, I will go with you,
Out o'er the raging sea;
To rescue them, come life, come death,
I'll work an oar with thee."
She went, and battling with the sea,
They reach'd the vessel's side,
And sav'd nine precious lives,
From sinking in the tide.
For those, who on the wreck remain'd,
Afraid to trust the waves,
In such a frail and loaded boat,
Soon found uncoffin'd graves.
All noble acts, unconsciously
Are done, with pure intent;
And thus, upon her errand bold,
This noble maiden went.
And when, from many mouths, she heard
Her praises told aloud,
'Twas but for simple duty done,
This modest maid felt proud.
And when, into her lone abode
Fam'd artists quickly came,
No swelling and self-conscious pride
Did animate her frame.
They knew rewards would scarcely do,
To tell what should be told,
And yet, they gave this modest girl
Five hundred pounds in gold.
But gold her peerless bravery
Could neither buy nor pay,
And yet, content, her lonely life
She liv'd from day to day.