Thank you Carmel Wooding for your reading of the poem (above). You can find Carmel via her Facebook page 'Carmel Wooding Bush Poet'.
This particular post has had a gestation best measured in years. Today I post the first of a series of poems about the ill fated Ship, the Lord Ard, which was wrecked off the Victorian coast at a place that now bears its name, Loch Ard Gorge. The Loch Ard story is well told at the nearby Flagstaff Hill Maritime Museum in Warrnambool. There are also a number of articles about the wreck on this blog already, so much so I have created an index.
This post will simply present the first poem in the series, in both written and audio form. Other posts will provide:
- a subsequent poem which is a reflection on the events written some weeks later
- an analysis of the poem from a poetic perspective
- a poetic critique of the poem and the author's poetic response
- a shallow dive into questions of authorship with a collection of thematically unrelated poems by Zachariah Sutcliffe.
The Wreck of the Loch Ard
The ship Loch Ard from England sailed
For Hobson's Bay. Alas! she failed,
And deeply is her fate bewailed.
All souls but two are lost!
Near Moonlight Head, a place forlorn,
With close-reefed topsails leeward borne
She, June the first, at dawning morn
Was wrecked upon the coast.
The night before, all glad and gay
Retired with thoughts of Hobson's Bay
And landing there the coming day,
They softly fall asleep.
Save steady breezes sighing low
And fitful splash upon the prow
All's still above and hushed below--
She glides along the deep.
At four a.m.
The captain throws the deep sea lead;
Hoarse sounds are heard of rocks ahead,
Which roused the slumberers from their bed.
They wake to fall asleep in death!
Midst gurgling sounds of stifling breath,
And seething wave and reel and shock,
And bumping ship and callous rock,
And falling spars and crashing mast,
And mangled bodies grim and ghast,
And screech and creak and horrid sound,
And lurid lightning's flashing round,
And faces pale amidst the glare,
And cries for help and sounds of prayer,
And piping winds and tempest's swell,
And ocean yawning like a hell!
Redoubling force and fatal stroke,
And sounds that peals of thunder make,
And shriek and groan and drowning yell,
And waves by fury driven,
And breakers' roar on rock-bound shore,
And cries for help to Heaven!
The captain last seen at his stand,
Ready to help or give command,
In sorrow shook a lady's hand
And tearfully he said,
"If from this awful scene of strife,
Dear lady, you escape with life,
Tell, Eva, tell my widowed wife
I like a sailor died!"
No more was seen of the affray
Except some fighting with the spray.
Young Pearce was early borne away
And now had reached the coast.
There wet and weary does he stray,
Loth to leave and loth to stay.
All signs of life had died away
He thought all else were lost.
While musing on that boisterous beach
Through dangers great he had to reach,
His ear caught something like a screech--
It was a human shout.
A floating spar was dancing there
Clutched by a maiden in despair.
The hero did at once declare
"I'll die, or bring her out."
Ungoaded by the love of fame--
Untwitted by the taunts of shame--
No crowds were there to praise or blame,
Or weep suppose he died,
Yet swift as eagle on his prey,
Or lightning's flash he's borne away
Headlong dashing through the spray
He stems the seething tide!
Now desperate strains our hero brave,
He steals a victim from the grave
And lays her in a lonely cave
Till better may be done;
Then brings he brandy from the tide
And rushes from the mountain side
And both are properly applied--
His prize is so far won.
On rushy bed, where she was laid
Unconsciously, the slumbering maid
Breathed a deep sigh and trembling said
"Tell mother I am here;
And tell dear father, tell him how
I'd like him to be with me now,
He'd take these seaweeds from my brow
And kiss his Eva dear."
Those words near broke the hero's heart;
No mother has she now,
Nor father dear with playful art
To kiss his Eva's brow;
No brother's help she now may crave
Nor sister's words to cheer;
All, all, have found a watery grave
That were to Eva dear!
"Then I will bathe thy brow," he said,
"And will a father be,
Pray drink this cordial now sweet maid
Our Father sent by me.
And wisdom with a heavenly grace
May animate thy brow,
And reason light that once bright face
So dull and cloudy now."
Then soon like flowers at dawning day
Her opening eyes yet wet with dew
Shone bright in reason's genial ray--
Her face assumed its radiant hue.
Oh! cruel fate, assuage her tears;
Thou who hast laid her kindred low
Enable me to quell her fears
Protect her, and subdue her woe.
With consciousness come grief and fears,
Enquiring looks and silent tears;
While through the gloomy cave she peers
Sad horror o'er her creeps,
She sees, for garments seaward gone,
Rushes are kindly o'er her thrown.
In gratitude to Pearce alone
The blushing maiden weeps.
With mingled horror and surprise
The scene affects the lady's eyes,
Who to her brave deliverer sighs
In gratitude and grief.
Distracted by his tale of woe
She begs that he too may not go
And leave her situated so
Unless to find relief.
He said, "your wish is granted, miss,
Now take an ample draught of this,
A cordial that can soothe distress
Or woe however deep."
Both deeply drank, and it was well;
The spirit acted like a spell,
And in short time both sufferers fell
Into a balmy sleep.
Soon much refreshed young Pearce arose,
And seeing the lady in repose
For further comforts once more goes
To search that dreary coast.
He finds a gloomy rock-bound shore
From whence he may return no more;
Unless their heights he can climb o'er
Both lives he knows are lost.
He faced the rocks with nerves of steel,
His only thoughts the lady's weal
His youthful bosom burns with zeal
To find some timely aid.
Then up the cliffs, like ocean sprite,
He nimbly climbs to dizzy height
To find assistance where he might
To nurse the famished maid.
The noble youth, though tired and worn,
With scratch and bruise and garments torn,
Though baffled oft and downward borne
Unconquered yet remains;
Again his eyes are upwards cast,
Now with a firmness unsurpassed,
And grips more desperate than the last
Those awful heights he gains.
And shortly here our hero finds
A track that to a station winds;
This he resolves to keep;
He landward started with a bound
And kept the track until he found
A shepherd with his sheep.
The shepherd heard his tale of woe,
And told him not to further go.
"Return at once" he said,
"And I will to the station ride,
Some aid and comforts to provide,
Meantime you tend the maid."
Gibson, a man of generous heart,
With others quickly made a start
To the disastrous scene;
Eager to succour or to save
They shortly reach the well-known cave
No lady could be seen!
Soon after Pearce had climbed the rock,
The maid in fear and trembling woke
And found she was alone.
With bated breath and anxious fears,
Afraid to speak, she thinks she hears
At times a dismal moan.
Can that be Pearce, in thought she said,
Can he be dying--is he dead:
Or is he here, or has he fled?
Desperate with fear, at last she cried,
"Ho, Pearce, are you not coming?"
Startled where silence reigned profound,
Voices like hers rise from the ground,
Words like her own are whispered round,
Each gloomy nook returns a sound
Like "coming, coming, coming."
Dark shadows seem to float in air,
While eyes like cats in darkness glare;
The maid in fear and wild despair
Ran screaming from the cave;
But soon fresh cause for fears abound,
The crags with yells of "cooey" resound,
She feared wild natives were around
Who had no heart to save.
"The savages are near," she said,
And midst the bushes cowered.
"I hear their yell, I hear their tread;
Heaven! must I be devoured!"
"Oh! Providence, with power to save,"
Exclaimed the afflicted Miss;
"Why take me from the kindly wave
To die a death like this?"
Here must I lay my aching head,
Whate'er my fate may be,
If Heaven ere helped a friendless maid
It must be kind to me."
But hark! a footstep coming here
The lady tried to fly,
But falling in some bushes near
Cried "Help me, God, I die!"
Still rushing forward Gibson said
"Your cry is heard, you've naught to fear."
He threw his coat around the maid
And gave kind words of cheer.
Now charmed indeed are the lady's ears;
Those words like angel's accents sound,
No savage monster there appears
But kind and Christian friends are round.
Again like incubus dispelled,
Her fears have faded with the dream;
In grateful raptures now she's held
And Hope reflects a ray serene.
Then with a modesty and grace
That well became the lady here,
She looked in Gibson's kindly face
And anxious asked if Pearce was near.
Again her heart rebounds with joy,
Again is apprehension fled,
Again she sees the sailor boy
By kind and generous Gibson led.
"Take comfort now, my youthful friends,
Affliction's tears we all must shed,
But Providence will make amends,"
The hospitable squatter said.
Then we will hasty homeward go,
Where care and comfort shall be thine;
Where tender hearts with kindness glow
To comfort you with all that's mine.
And soon they reach his mansion fair,
Where worldly blessings round them flow;
The lady meets a mother's care
And all the household sooth their woe.
By care and kindness thus caressed,
The wrecked in health and spirits mend;
And Gibson's by Australia blessed--
He to the friendless proves a friend.
W.S. Blackwood, June 18, 1878.
Notes
References
[1] THE WRECK OF THE LOCH ARD. (1878, June 29). The Bacchus Marsh Express (Vic. : 1866 - 1945), p. 3. Retrieved September 25, 2019, from http://nla.gov.au/nla.news-article89702371
[2] THE WRECK OF THE LOCH ARD. (1878, July 13). The Bacchus Marsh Express (Vic. : 1866 - 1945), p. 4. Retrieved September 25, 2019, from http://nla.gov.au/nla.news-article89702705
[3] REFLECTIONS ON THE WRECK OF THE LOCH ARD. (1878, July 27). The Bacchus Marsh Express (Vic. : 1866 - 1945), p. 3. Retrieved September 25, 2019, from http://nla.gov.au/nla.news-article89702151
[4] To the Editor of the Express. (1878, July 27). The Bacchus Marsh Express (Vic. : 1866 - 1945), p. 3. Retrieved September 25, 2019, from http://nla.gov.au/nla.news-article89702152
[6] Heritage Council of Victoria (n.d.) Bacchus March Express Office and Printing Works. Retrieved April 2, 2023, from https://vhd.heritagecouncil.vic.gov.au/places/44
No comments:
Post a Comment