The sky was changed, an angry glare
Lit up the billows, and through the air
Flaming swords flashed in invisible hands,
Ready to execute God's commands.
The solemn light of the pale moon's glance
Glowed with the wrath of His countenance.
At the far horizon shadowy things
Shod with the lightning, with fiery wings,
Were darting with messages to and fro,
I saw them flitting on, noiseless, swift,
Through the holy vail of luminous mist,
Where God was apportioning our woe.
I knew the time had come when He meant
To mete out to us our punishment.
An awful voice from the maintop fell:
"Where is the captain and sick of the crew?"
It filled my brain with the pains of hell;
The cold sweat started like drops of dew.
My hair stood up--for, over the side,
On the rolling swell of the heaving tide,
Gliding along on the crest of a wave,
I saw, in the moonlight's shimmering track,
Our messmates, the feeble, sick and blind,
That leagues away we had left behind;
To the vessel groping their blind way back
Coming again to join the crew;
Led by the captain looking as brave,
As full of command, as he used to do
The wave heaved up to the bulwark's side,
And one after one they stepped on board.
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