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.