It was the schooner Hesperus that sailed the wintry sea and the skipper had taken his little daughter to bear him company. Blue were her eyes as the fairy flacks her cheeks like the dawn of day, and her bosom white as the hawthorn buds that opened the month of May. The skipper he stood beside the helm with his pipe in his mouth and watched how the veering floor did blow. The smoke now west now south, then up and spake an old sailor had sailed the Spanish main. I pray thee put into Yonder port for I fear a hurricane. Last night the moon had a golden ring, and to night no moon we see the skipper he blew a whiff from his pipe, and a scornful laugh left he. Older and louder blue the wind gale from the north east. The snow fell hissing in the brine, and the billows frothed like east, down came the storm and smote a mane. The vessel in its strength she shuddered and paused like a flight and steed. Unleaped her cables length, come here that come here that my little daughter and do not tremble so, for I can weather the roughest gale, that even winded blow. Here acturam his semen's coat against the stinging blast, he cut at a rope from a broken sparred and bound her to the mast. Oh father I hear the church bells ring, oh say what may it be, to the fog bell on our acbe on coast and he steered for the open sea. Oh father I hear the sound of guns, oh say what may it be, some ship in distress that cannot live in such an angrily sea. Oh father I see a gleaming light, oh say what may it be, but the father answered never a word of frozen corpse, was he? Lash to the helm, all stiff and stark with his face to the skies, the lantern gleamed through the gleaming snow on his fixed and glassy eyes. In the maiden clasped her hands and prayed, that save it she might be, and she sought of Christ who still the waves on the lake of Galilee. And fast through the midnight dark and drear, through the whistling sleet and snow like a sheeted ghost, the vessels swept towards the reef of Normans' woe, and even the fateful gusts between the sound came from the land, it was the sound of the tramping surf on the rocks and the hard seasand. The breakers were right beneath her bow, she drifted a drearily wreck, and a whooping billows swept the crew like icicles from her deck. She struck where the white and fleecy waves looked soft as carded wool, but the crew rocks they gawd her sides like the horns of an angry bull. Her wrackling shrouds all sheathed the ice with the masts went by the board, like a vessel of glass she stove and sank, ho ho the breakers roared. Daybreak on the bleak sea beach, a fisherman stood a guest to see the form of a maiden affair, lashed close to a drifting mast. The salt sea was frozen on her breast, the salt tears in her eyes, and he saw her hair like the brown sea weed and the billows fall and rise.