Poems

Excerpt

POEMS.

'My bosom is chill'd with the cold,

My limbs their lost vigour deplore!

Alas! to the lonely and old,

Hope warbles her promise no more!

'Worn out with the length of my way,

I must rest me awhile on the beach,

To feel the salt dash of the spray,

If haply so far it may reach.

'As the white-foaming billows arise,

I reflect on the days that are past,

When the pride of my strength could despise

The keen-driving force of the blast.

'Though the heavens might menace on high,

I would still push my vessel from shore;

At my calling undauntedly ply,

And sing as I handled the oar.

'When fortune rewarded my toil,

And my nets, deeply-laden, I drew,

I hurried me home with the spoil,

And its inmates rejoic'd at the view.

'Though the winds and the waves were perverse,

I was sure to be welcom'd with glee;

My presence the cares would disperse,

That were only awaken'd for me.

'Whether weary, with toiling in vain,

Or gay, from abundant success,

I heard the same blessing again,—

I met the same tender caress:

'I fancied the perils repay'd,

That could such affection ensure;

By fondness and gratitude sway'd,

I was eager to dare and endure.

'My cot did each comfort contain,

And that gave my bosom delight;

When drench'd by the winterly rain,

I watch'd in my vessel at night.

'But, alas! from the tyrant, Disease,

What love or what caution can save!

A fever, more harsh than the seas,

Consign'd my poor wife to the grave.

'My children, so tenderly rear'd,

And pining for want of her care,

Though more by my sorrows endear'd,

Could not rescue my heart from despair.

'I tempted the dangers of night,

And still labour'd hard at the oar,

My sufferings appear'd to be light,

But I suffer'd with pleasure no more.

'And yet, when some seasons had roll'd,

I seem'd to awaken anew;

My children I lov'd to behold,

How tall and how comely they grew.

'My boy became hardy and bold,

His spirit was buoyant and free;

And, as I grew thoughtful and old,

Was loud and oppressive to me.

'But the girl, like a bird in the bower,

Awaken'd my hope and my pride;

She won on my heart ev'ry hour,

And I could not the preference hide.

'I mark'd the address and the care,

The manner endearing and mild,

Not dreaming those qualities rare

Were to murther the peace of my child:

'That grandeur would ever descend

To seek for so lowly a bride,

Or his fair one, a lover pretend,

From all she held dear to divide:

'That beauty was priz'd like a gem,

Expected to dazzle and shine,

Whose value the world would contemn,

Unless trac'd to some Indian mine:

'Alas! hapless girl! had I known

Thou hadst learnt to repine at thy lot;

That splendour and rank were thy own,

Thy home and thy father forgot:

'That lore and ambition assail'd,

Thou hadst left us, whatever befel!

My pardon and prayers had prevail'd,

I had blest thee, and bade thee farewel!

'With thy husband, from this happy clime,

I had seen thee for ever depart!

Still hoping affection and time

Might soften the pride of his heart:

'That a moment perhaps would arise,

When, fondling a child on the knee,

He might read, in its innocent eyes

A lesson of pity for me....