In eighteen hundred and eighty seven

(Her majesty’s jubilee year),

On Good Friday morn the southwind blew

Bitterly cold and severe.


And the treacherous Severn, with rigid tide,

Waters wild and deep,

Were tossing and foaming, surging and moaning

Whilst many of the landsmen sleep.


A brave ship had sailed from a distant shore,

Prince Victor was her name,

With captain and crew as brave as the ship

To the mouth of the Severn she came.


And then with Sharpness port in view,

Ship under pilot’s command,

Unskilled or skillful, none will say,

But she struck on a bank of sand.


Then, Oh! What a change came o’er the crew,

Wailing, instead of joy,

For in the cabin was captain’s wife,

Along with her fair haired boy.


They had just arose from a night of repose

Not dreaming or thinking of ill,

When with horrible rush like avalanche rush,

The cabin with water soon filled.


Then the brave ship rolled and the brave ship whirled,

And the hearts of the crew stood still.

She floundered, foundered and came to grief,

Near to the Old Grange Hill.


But, she was not wrecked on a barbarous shore,

With savages white men fear,

But on an English shore, with English homes,

To English hearts so dear.


And willing hands, and willing feet

Hasten to the shore,

To behold the Prince Victor a helpless wreck,

Destined to sail no more.


And Alas! Their help- It came too late

To save the mother and boy,

For, down in the cabin, ‘neath waters cold,

Lay the captain’s pride and joy.


With tender hand they were bourne to land,

To a homestead standing near,

Where with kindly words and kindly acts

They try the poor father to cheer.


The heart-broken father with anguish deep

Answered them, as he cried,

“For my darling wife and fair haired son,

I willingly would have died”.


Then the law- named inquest- had it’s say,

(That law with such wide fame).

But what matters now, to mother and boy,

Whether the pilot was to blame?


And now in a picturesque churchyard near,

They lie in the silent earth,

And the father goes back to his native shore.


And every year, as Good Friday appears,

He remembers them with a sigh,

And prays and yearns, and longs for the time 

To meet them up on high.

And o’er their grave a monument stands

Showing passers’ by,

That mother and father and fair haired son,

Shall meet again, up on high.



Author Unknown




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by using the email button at the top of the page.

The Wreck of the Prince Victor on Good Friday 1887

If you know the source or author of this poem

please use the email button below.

please email me
Goto: Prince Victor Front Page
Goto: World's End Sands Victim



In eighteen hundred and eighty seven

(Her majesty’s jubilee year),

On Good Friday morn the southwind blew

Bitterly cold and severe.


And the treacherous Severn, with rigid tide,

Waters wild and deep,

Were tossing and foaming, surging and moaning

Whilst many of the landsmen sleep.


A brave ship had sailed from a distant shore,

Prince Victor was her name,

With captain and crew as brave as the ship

To the mouth of the Severn she came.


And then with Sharpness port in view,

Ship under pilot’s command,

Unskilled or skillful, none will say,

But she struck on a bank of sand.


Then, Oh! What a change came o’er the crew,

Wailing, instead of joy,

For in the cabin was captain’s wife,

Along with her fair haired boy.


They had just arose from a night of repose

Not dreaming or thinking of ill,

When with horrible rush like avalanche rush,

The cabin with water soon filled.


Then the brave ship rolled and the brave ship whirled,

And the hearts of the crew stood still.

She floundered, foundered and came to grief,

Near to the Old Grange Hill.


But, she was not wrecked on a barbarous shore,

With savages white men fear,

But on an English shore, with English homes,

To English hearts so dear.


And willing hands, and willing feet

Hasten to the shore,

To behold the Prince Victor a helpless wreck,

Destined to sail no more.


And Alas! Their help- It came too late

To save the mother and boy,

For, down in the cabin, ‘neath waters cold,

Lay the captain’s pride and joy.


With tender hand they were bourne to land,

To a homestead standing near,

Where with kindly words and kindly acts

They try the poor father to cheer.


The heart-broken father with anguish deep

Answered them, as he cried,

“For my darling wife and fair haired son,

I willingly would have died”.


Then the law- named inquest- had it’s say,

(That law with such wide fame).

But what matters now, to mother and boy,

Whether the pilot was to blame?


And now in a picturesque churchyard near,

They lie in the silent earth,

And the father goes back to his native shore.


And every year, as Good Friday appears,

He remembers them with a sigh,

And prays and yearns, and longs for the time 

To meet them up on high.

And o’er their grave a monument stands

Showing passers’ by,

That mother and father and fair haired son,

Shall meet again, up on high.



Author Unknown




If you know the source or author of this poem please contact me

by using the email button at the top of the page.

The Wreck of the Prince Victor on Good Friday 1887

If you know the source or author of this poem

please use the email button below.

please email me
Goto: Prince Victor Front Page
Goto: World's End Sands Victim