This poem is about the same disaster, although it doesn't mention the name of the ship. In an 1874 edition of this poem, the title was changed to THE LOSS OF THE AMPHITRITE

From The Mirror of Literature, Amusement, and Instruction, Vol. 22, No. 635. (London: J. Limbird, November 30, 1833), page 363:


THE FEMALE CONVICT SHIP.
By Thomas Haynes Bayly

1. The tide is in, the breeze is fair,
The vessel under weigh;
The gallant prow glides swiftly on,
And throws aside the spray;
The tranquil ocean, mirror-like,
Reflects the deep blue skies;
And, pointing to the destin'd course,
The straighten'd pennon flies.

2. Oh! none of those heart-cradled prayers
That never reach the lip,
No benedictions wait upon
That fast-receding ship:
No tearful eyes are strain'd to watch
Its progress from the land;
And there are none to wave the scarf,
And none to kiss the hand.

3. Yet women throng that vessel's deck—
The haggard, and the fair.
The young in guilt, and the depraved,
Are intermingled there!
The girl, who from her mother's arms
Was early lured away;
The harden'd hag, whose trade hath been
To lead the pure astray!

4. A young and sickly mother kneels
Apart from all the rest;
And with a song of home she lulls
The babe upon her breast.
She falters,—for her tears must flow,—
She cannot end the verse;
And naught is heard among the crowd
But laughter, shout, or curse!

5. 'Tis sunset. Hark! the signal gun;—
All from the deck are sent—
The young, the old, the best, the worst.
In one dark dungeon pent!
Their wailings, and their horrid mirth,
Alike are hush'd in sleep:
And now the female convict-ship
In silence ploughs the deep.

6. But long the lurid tempest-cloud
Hath brooded o'er the waves;
And suddenly the winds are roused.
And leave their secret caves;
And up aloft the ship is borne,
And down again as fast;
And every mighty billow seems
More dreadful than the last,

7. Oh! who that loves the pleasure-barque,
By summer breezes fann'd.
Shall dare to paint the ocean-storm,
Terrifically grand?
"When helplessly the vessel drifts,
Each torn sail closely furl'd;
When not a man of all the crew
Knows whither she is hurl'd

8. And who shall tell the agony
Of those confined beneath,
Who in the darkness dread to die—
How unprepared for death!
Who, loathing, to each other cling
When every hope hath ceased.
And beat against their prison door,
And shriek to be released!

9. Three times the ship hath struck. Again!
She never more will float.
Oh! wait not for the rising tide;
Be steady—man the boat.
And see, assembled on the shore,
The merciful, the brave;—
Quick, set the female convicts free.
There still is time to save!

10. It is in vain! what demon blinds
The captain and the crew?
The rapid rising of the tide
With mad delight they view.
They hope the coming waves will waft
The convict ship away!
The foaming monster hurries on.
Impatient for his prey!

11. And He is come! the rushing flood
In thunder sweeps the deck!
The groaning timbers fly apart.
The vessel is a wreck!
One moment from the female crowd
There comes a fearful cry;
The next, they're hurl'd into the deep.
To struggle, and to die!

12. Their corses strew a foreign shore,
Left by the ebbing tide;
And sixty in a ghastly row
Lie number'd, side by side!
The lifeless mother's bleeding form
Comes floating from the wreck;
And lifeless is the babe she bound
So fondly round her neck!

13. 'Tis morn;—the anxious eye can trace
No vessel on the deep;
But gather'd timber on the shore
Lies in a gloomy heap:
In winter time those brands will blaze
Our tranquil homes to warm,
Though torn from that poor convict ship
That perish'd in the storm!

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