Grace Darling by Eva Hope (people reading books .txt) 📕

pious prayer—the wicked curse—
Were mingled with the gale.
On, on they flew, with fated force;
They struck the deadly reef:
They sank! and through the wind so hoarse
Was heard the shriek of grief.

"While many a manly spirit quenched
Its life beneath the wave,
A few from death a moment wrenched,
Clung o'er an awful grave.
Their cries were heard from lonely tower,
Unseen amidst the gloom;
A simple girl was sent, with power
To snatch them from the tomb.

"She urged her aged sire to ply,
With her, the frail boat's oar;
A father's love had mastery,
He dared not leave the shore.
Her prayers prevailed—they forth were led
By God's own helping hand;
And those who were accounted dead
Sang praises on the land.

"'Tis sad to think the ocean cave
May hide a gem so pure—
But joy to feel 'tis ours to save
Such worth from fate obscure.
Then let us sing 'The boatie rows,'
To tell of her fair fame,
Who honour on the race bestows—
Grace Darling is her name.

"'The boatie rows, the boatie rows,'
In safety through the deep;
For Grace on Mercy's mission goes,
And angels watch shall keep."

Numerous songs in honour of the lighthouse-maiden were written and sung, some of which we shall give in these pages. Among the rest was the following, which both Grace and her father highly esteemed, as it was from the pen of Wordsworth:—

"Among the dwellers in the silent fields
The natural heart was touched, and public way,
And crowded street, resound with ballad strains,
Inspired by one, whose very name bespeaks
Favour divine, exalting human love,
Whom, since her birth on bleak Northumbria's coast,
Known but to few, but prized as far as known,
A single act endears to high and low
Through the whole land—to manhood, moved in spite
Of the world's freezing cares—to generous youth—
To infancy, that lisps her praise—and age,
Whose eye reflects it, glistering through a tear
Of tremulous admiration. Such true fame
Awaits her now; but, verily, good deeds
Do not imperishable record find
Save in the rolls of heaven, where her's may live,
A theme for angels, when they celebrate
The high-soul'd virtues which forgetful earth
Has witnessed. Oh! that winds and waves could speak
Of things which their united power call'd forth
From the pure depths of her humanity!
A maiden gentle, yet, at duty's call,
Firm and unflinching as the lighthouse reared.
On the island rock, her lonely dwelling place,
Or like the invincible rock itself that braves,
Age after age, the hostile elements,
As when it guarded holy Cuthbert's cell.

"All night the storm had raged, nor ceased nor paused,
When, as day broke, the maid, through misty air,
Espies far off a wreck, amid the surf,
Beating on one of those disastrous isles.
Half of a vessel!—half—no more! The rest
Had vanished, swallowed up with all that there
Had for the common safety striven in vain,
Or thither thronged for refuge. With quick glance
Daughter and sire through optic glass discern,
Clinging about the remnant of this ship,
Creatures—how precious in the maiden's sight!
For whom, belike, the old man grieves still more
Than for their fellow-sufferers engulphed
Where every parting agony is hushed,
And hope and fear mix not in further strife.
'But courage, father! let us out to sea—
A few may yet be saved.' The daughter's words,
Her earnest tone and look, beaming with faith,
Dispel the father's doubts; nor do they lack
The noble-minded mother's helping hand
To launch the boat; and with her blessing cheer'd,
And inwardly sustained by silent prayer,
Together they put forth, father and child!
Each grasps an oar, and, struggling, on they go—
Rivals in effort; and, alike intent
Here to elude and there to surmount, they watch
The billows lengthening, mutually cross'd
And shattered, and regathering their might,
As if the wrath and troubles of the sea
Were by the Almighty's sufferance prolong'd
That woman's fortitude—so tried, so proved—
May brighten more and more!

"True to that mark,
They stem the current of that perilous gorge,
Their arms still strengthening with the strengthening heart,
Though danger, as the wreck is neared, becomes
More imminent. Nor unseen do they approach;
And rapture, with varieties of fear
Incessantly conflicting, thrills the frame
Of those who, in that dauntless energy,
Foretaste deliverance; but the least perturb'd
Can scarcely trust his eyes, when he perceives
That of the pair—tossed on the waves to bring
Hope to the hopeless, to the dying, life—
One is a woman, a poor earthly sister;
Or, be the visitant other than she seems!
A guardian spirit sent from pitying heaven,
In woman's shape! But why prolong the tale,
Casting weak words amid a host of thoughts
Arm'd to repel them? Every hazard faced,
And difficulty mastered, with resolve
That no one breathing should be left to perish,
This last remainder of the crew were all
Placed in the little boat, then o'er the deep
Are safely borne, landed upon the beach,
And in fulfilment of God's mercy, lodged
Within the sheltering lighthouse. Shout, ye waves!
Pipe a glad song of triumph, ye fierce winds!
Ye screaming sea mews in the concert join!
And would that some immortal voice,
Fitly attuned to all that gratitude
Breathes out from flock or couch through pallid lips
Of the survivors, to the clouds might bear—
(Blended with praise of that parental love,
Pious and pure, modest and yet so brave,
Though young so wise, though meek so resolute)
Might carry to the clouds, and to the stars,
Yea, to celestial choirs, GRACE DARLING'S name."

By a less-known writer, but one who was evidently a keen admirer of Grace, the following lines were also written:—

"'Over the wave, the stormy wave,
Hasten, dear father, with me,
The crew to save from the wat'ry grave,
Deep in the merciless sea.
Hear ye the shriek, the piercing shriek,
Hear ye the cry of despair?
With courage quick the wreck we'll seek,
Danger united we'll dare.

"'Out with the boat, the gallant boat;
Not a moment to be lost.
See! she's afloat, proudly afloat,
And high on the waves we're tossed;
Mother, adieu, a short adieu;
Your prayers will rise to heaven.
Father, to you—your child and you—
Power to save is given.

"'I have no fear, no maiden fear;
My heart is firm to the deed,
I shed no tear, no coward tear;
I've strength in the time of need.
Heard ye the crash, the horrid crash?
Their mast over the side is gone;
Yet on we dash, 'mid lightning flash,
Safe, through the pelting storm.

"'The wreck we near, the wreck we near;
Our bonny boat seems to fly;
List to the cheer—their welcome cheer—
They know that succour is nigh.'
And on that night, that dreadful night,
The father and daughter brave,
With strengthened might they both unite,
And many dear lives they save.

"Hail to the maid, the fearless maid,
The maid of matchless worth,
She'll e'er abide the cherished pride
Of the land that gave her birth.
They send her gold, her name high uphold,
Honour and praise to impart;
But, with true regard, the loved reward
Is the joy of her own brave heart."

Very beautiful are the following lines, which appeared in the "Newcastle Chronicle," and were written by Miss Eleanor Louise Montague:—

"Sweet spirit of the merciful,
That smoothed the watery way!
From the true throb of heart to heart
Thou wilt not turn away;
Oh! softly, wilt thou lend thine ear,
When 'mid the tempest's war,
The feeble voice of woman's praise
Shall greet thee from afar.

"I see thee in thy rock-built home,
Swept by the dashing seas,
I hear thy voice as on that night
It stilled the rushing breeze.
When stirred by heavenly visions,
Thou didst burst the bonds of sleep,
To take thy place in peril's path—
The angel of the deep!

"Oh, where was then the tender form
That quailed to every blast!
Like the bread-gift to the famished,
'Upon the waters cast!'
True to thy woman's nature still,
While scorning woman's fears,
Oh, strongest in her gentleness,
And mightiest in her tears!

"Fair as thine own heroic deed
Thou risest on my dream,
A halo is around thee,
'Tis the tempest's lightning gleam—
Upborne by every billow,
And o'erswept by every gale,
One sound hath nerved thy noble heart—
The dying seaman's wail!

"Thine eye onto the wreck is turned—
Thy hand is on the oar—
Where is that death-prolonging shriek?
It thrills the seas no more!
A human soul to life hath risen
Where'er thy wing hath waved:
The wail is hushed—the storm is past—
The perishing are saved!

"Thou standest, like thy native home,
A beacon lit on high;
Thy name comes o'er the waters
Like a nation's gathering cry;
And England's sons shall hail thee,
Where'er that name shall thrill,
A glory upon every wave—
A light on every hill!"

So much praise was enough to turn the head of any less sensible girl than our heroine; but one who knew wrote of her after this time, in the "Berwick and Kelso Warder:"—"It is indeed gratifying to state, that amidst all the tumults of applause, Grace Darling never for a moment forgot the modest dignity of conduct which became her sex and station. The flattering testimonials of all kinds which were showered upon her, never produced in her mind any feeling but a sense of wonder and pleasure. She continued, notwithstanding the improvement of her circumstances, to reside at the Longstone lighthouse with her father and mother, finding, in her limited sphere of domestic duty on the sea-girt islet, a more honourable and more lasting enjoyment than could be found in the more crowded haunts of the mainland, and thus afforded, by her conduct, the best proof that the liberality of the public had not been unworthily bestowed."

A paper written in the "Scotsman" on the subject is exceedingly good, and no doubt amazed and delighted Grace as much as those that were more apparently eulogistic; for to a sensible, modest girl, too much praise is more disagreeable than none at all.

"The Grace Darling Mania.—Never was poor girl in so fair a way of being spoiled as Grace Darling. We were amongst the first to acknowledge the credit due to this young damsel for her exertions at the wreck of the 'Forfarshire;' but really we begin to have serious apprehensions lest she herself should be whirled away by the tide of public favour which has set in so strongly towards her. Truly, the storm which roared and whistled over the Fern rocks on the night of her achievement has awakened a pretty echo in the mainland. Not only have large sums of money been collected throughout the country to reward the little heroine, but various silver cups and medals have been presented to her, both from private individuals and humane societies. Five pounds, it is said, have been given by one person (though not to her) for a lock of her hair, while the painter, the sculptor, and the poet, have caught the mania, and endeavoured to give permanence to her celebrity. She has even been represented on the London stage in the person of Mrs. Yates, and some whispers were lately afloat of her appearing in Batty's arena in propria persona. She is also, we perceive, made the subject of a tale now in course of publication; while a vessel lately launched at Sunderland has been called after her name. In short, Grace Darling is the fashion. Dukes and Duchesses have entertained her as their guest, and she has even been honoured and rewarded by Royalty itself. What mortal girl could bear up against such rewards—such flatteries? Without detracting from her really praiseworthy conduct, there is, we think, in the sensation she has created, a little touch of the romantic. Had Grace Darling been a married woman, dwelling in some poor alley in an ordinary town, and with no rarer or prettier an appellation than Smith, Brown, M'Tavish, or Higginbottom, a greater deed would, perhaps, have won her less favour. But a young woman—a sea-nymph—inhabiting a rock in the ocean, and coming to the few survivors of the wreck, like a bird of calm over the troubled waters—who, that has a beating pulse, could resist! Grace Darling, too, is a name to take one's heart and one's memory; and although 'a rose by any other name would smell as sweet,' we cannot for all the pretty pleading of Juliet, read or speak about roses without feeling something of their fragrance. If, previous to that deed which has gilded her humble name, any honest fisher-lad ever saw in Grace Darling more to admire than even the world has seen