ON the bold headland that o'erlooks the sea,

Round whose stern base the angry billows flow,

Three crosses, rude, storm-beaten, silently

Mark unknown graves. They say long years ago

A stranded wreck was found upon the shore,


With these three bodies, - these and nothing more.

The thoughtless stranger, with an idle word,

Points out this lonely haven of the dead,

Neglected now; - the only mourners heard,

The thundering sea, the passing bird o'erhead,

A troop of merry children, who can never dream

Of that dark night, - that wild tempestuous scene.

Three lonely crosses crown that headland bold,

Three strangers rest within a foreign land;

The summer sun lights up with rays of gold;

The wintry storms, with nature's matchless hand,

With crystals shorn from off the angriest waves,

Adorn these three deserted, unknown graves.