With a Nantucket Shell

I send thee a shell from the ocean beach; But listen thou well, for my shell hath speech.       Hold to thine ear,       And plain thou’lt hear       Tales of ships       That were lost in the rips,       Or that sunk on shoals       Where the bell-buoy tolls, And ever and ever its iron tongue rolls In a ceaseless lament for the poor lost souls.       And a song of the sea       Has my shell for thee;       The melody in it       Was hummed at Wauwinet,       And caught at Coatue       By the gull that flew Outside to the ship with its perishing crew.       But the white wings wave       Where none may save, And there ’s never a stone to mark a grave.       See, its sad heart bleeds       For the sailors’ needs;       But it bleeds again       For more mortal pain,       More sorrow and woe,       Than is theirs who go With shuddering eyes and whitening lips Down in the sea on their shattered ships.       Thou fearest the sea?       And a tyrant is he,— A tyrant as cruel as tyrant may be;       But though winds fierce blow,       And the rocks lie low,       And the coast be lee,       This I say to thee: Of Christian souls more have been wrecked on shore       Than ever were lost at sea!