Gypsy Verses. Whitney Helen Hay

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      At last in harbour, safe and still,

      No more she need be brave,

      No more she’d meet the winds’ rough will,

      The wanton of each wave.

      The harbour lights! but where the moon

      Should murmur blessings bright,

      Clouded instead the dread typhoon,

      That thundered down the night.

      What curse the luring harbour bore

      Of false security;

      The port held desolation more

      Than boasted all the sea.

      When morning came with leering lip,

      What death lay on her breast,

      And oh! the little weary ship

      Was wrecked with all the rest.