Samoa's Storm
By George Hannibal Temple
The sea was calm, cloudless the sky
They kept the watch with eagle eye;
Hard by the shore were resting in repose,
Three nations’ fleets before the storm arose.
The winds an awful stillness tell;
The placid brine nor rose nor fell —
In distance wide, the mate descried a speck
Of coming storm, as sailors trod the deck.
“All hands ahoy! we’ll fly to sea!” —
The order rang with melody;
With quickened step they hasten’d to obey
Their stern commander, nor confused were they.
“The fires are low! ’tis now too late!
Prepare to brave the coming fate!”
Now cast they anchors in the deep profound,
While dismal lash the sounding surges round.
The driven foam comes thick and white,
As silvery flakes on winter’s night;
And rolling clouds with maddened fury frown
Upon the ships, as sheets of rain come down.
O’er head the vivid lightnings flash,
With direful din the thunders crash;
Now down into the horrid trough so deep,
And now some billow’s snowy crest they sweep.
Our sailor boys all list aloft;
Sweet-flowing strains of music soft,
From Trenton’s Band, and cheers from gallant hands,
Greet the Calliope, while Trenton strands.
Majestically the storm it braves,
Kind Providence but one ship saves;
‘Tis England’s mighty boat so proud and strong,
With streaming colors glides o’er seas along.
On shell-strewn beach or coral reef,
The brave marines soon came to grief;
And ‘neath Samoa’s sod some found their graves,
While others lie reposed below the waves.
