Annual Report Finds Harvard Kennedy School Faculty Remains Largely White, Male


Harvard Square Celebrates Oktoberfest


Harvard Corporation Members Donated Big to Democrats in 2020 Elections


City Council Candidates Propose Strategies for Supporting Low-Income Residents at Virtual Forum


FAS Dean Gay Hopes to Update Affiliates on Ethnic Studies Search by Semester’s End



ALONE wild isle stands out at sea;

Its jagged rocks are flecked with spray,

And huge waves beat incessantly;

The fog-clouds never drift away;

While low and sad the sea-gulls soar,

And break the ocean's sullen roar.

No other sounds the long year through; -

Deserted now the island stands;

Still deeper grows its leaden hue,

Still fewer are its shelving sands;

Yet wintry storms it proudly mocks,

High tower up its gloomy rocks.

Now years ago, as legends run,

A noble vessel sailed away.

The sky was clear; an autumn sun

Sank in the peaceful twilight gray;

The good ship passed from eager sight,

And twilight faded into night.

The storm-king seized his ebon car,

Spreading the sky with fitful clouds,

And blotted out each sparkling star;

The chill winds moaned in the shrouds; -

Brave sailors watched, with looks of dread,

The heavy, threatening sky o'erhead.

The ship plunged on; no heaven-sent guide

Lit up the deep; - but still they hold

Their unknown course on ocean wide;

The nights keep growing bitter cold;

Soon ice has stiffened yard and rope,

And frozen every thought of hope.

A lone wild isle stands out at sea; -

Another plunge, it was the last;

One short, sad cry, - all misery

Was done; - the weary passage past,

Yet few there are who dream or know

The Boston's wreck, that night of woe.

Want to keep up with breaking news? Subscribe to our email newsletter.