a Welsh Congregationalist Minister, and an eminent poet. His Ode on the
wreck of the ship Rothsay Castle, off Anglesea, is a very graphic and
forcible Poem, and won the chief prize at an Eisteddfod held at Beaumaris
in 1839, which was honoured by the presence of Her Majesty the Queen,
then the Princess Victoria, who graciously invested the young bard, with
the appropriate decoration.]
Boiling and tearing
was the fearful deep,
Its raging waves aroused from lengthened sleep
Together marching like huge mountains;
The swell how great--nature bursting its chains!
The bounding spray dashed 'gainst the midnight stars
In its wild flight shedding salt tears.
Again it came a sweeping mighty deluge,
Washing the firmament with breakers huge;
Ripping the ocean's bosom so madly,
Wondrous its power when roaring so wildly,
The vessel was seen immersed in the tide,
While all around threatened destruction wide.
God, ruler of the waters,
His words of might now utters,
His legions calls to battle:
No light of sun visible,
The firmament so low'ring,
With tempest strong approaching.
Loud whistling it left its recesses,
Threats worlds with wreck, so fearful it rages,
While heaven unchaining the surly billows,
Both wind and wave rush tumultuous,
Sweeping the main, the skies darkening,
While Rothsay to awful destruction is speeding.
Anon upon the wave she's seen,
Reached through struggles hard and keen:
Again she's hurled into the abyss,
While all around tornados hiss,
Through the salt seas she helpless rolls,
While o'er her still the billow falls:
Alike she was in her danger
To the frail straw dragg'd by the river.
The ocean still enraged in mountains white,
Would like a drunkard reel in sable night,
While she her paddles plies against the wave,
Yet all in vain the sweeping tide to brave:
Driven from her course afar by the loud wind,
Then back again by breezes from behind;
Headlong she falls into the fretful surge,
While weak and broken does she now emerge.
The inmates are now filled with fear,
Destruction seeming so near;
The vessel rent in awful chasms,
Waxing weaker, weaker she seems.
* * * * *
Anon is heard great commotion,
Roaring for spoil is the lion;
The vessel's own final struggles
Are fierce, while the crew trembles.
The hurricane increasing
Over the grim sea is driving,
Drowning loud moans, burying all
In its passage dismal.
How hard their fate, O how they wept
In that sad hour of miseries heap'd;
Some sighed, others prayed fervently,
Others mad, or in despair did cry.
Affrighted they ran to and fro,
To flee from certain death and woe;
While _he_, with visage grim and dark,
Would still surround the doomed bark.
Deep night now veiled the firmament,
While sombre clouds thicker were sent
To hide each star, the ocean's rage
No cries of grief could even assuage.
The vessel sinks beneath the might
Of wind, and wave, and blackest night,
While through the severed planks was heard
The breaker's splash, with anger stirred.