Sleeping in the foam of the whispering wave
Just laying on a tangled, and rock strewn shore.
A ship, once the pride of many seamen brave
Alas, for she would sail the high seas no more.

A rust skeleton now of the deepest red
Giant stature and pride of those days long gone.
Slumbering now, with sandy beach for a bed
Listen quiet, you hear the sea’s mournful song.

In quiet of night, as the wind south-east blows
You may hear soft voices of the sailors past,
Sitting in in their galley; bunks row by row
Wondering if vicious wind nor’west would last

As a slip to the starboard; a curling wave
And then the crashing strength of the broadside storm:
The mighty ship’s hulk, a deathly moan it gave
On rocks with grinding crash, jagged hole were torn.

Such tales are still told of that terrible night
The loss of the good and true ship Beaming Star*
Still told under many a pubs lantern light
Though the truth is now stretched, quiet wide and far.