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A father bends o'er him with looks of delight;
His cheek is bedewed with a mother's warm tear: And the lips of the boy in a love-kiss unite
With the lips of the maid whom his bosom holds dear.
The heart of the sleeper beats high in his breast,
And a murmur of happiness steals through his rest—
Ah! whence is that flame which now glares on his eye?
Ah! what is that sound which now bursts on his ear •' 'Tis the lightning's red gleam, painting hell on the sky!
'Tis the crashing of thunders, the groan of the sphete!
He springs from bis hammock, he flies to the deck,— Amazement confronts him with images djre—
Wild winds and mad waves drive the vessel a Tssreck—
Like mountains the billows tremendously swell—
Unseen hands of spirits are ringing his knell,
And the deajh-angel flaps his broad w^ng o'er t& wave! Oh! sailor boy, woe to thy dream of delight!
In darkness dissolves the gay frost-work of bliss— Where now is the picture that fancy touched bright,
Thy parents' fond pressure, and love's honied kiss?
Oh, sailor boy! sailor boy I never again
Shall home, love, or kindred, thy wishes repay;
Unblessed, and unhomoured, dawn deep in the main
No tomb shall e'er plead to remembrance foe thee,
But the white foam of waves shall thy winding-sheet be,
On a bed of sea-green flower thy limbs shall be laid,
Of thy fair yellow locks, threads of amber be made,
Bays, months, years, and ages, shall circle away,
And still the vast waters above thee shall roll,
Frail short-sighted mortals their doom mast obey—
Oh, sailor boy I sailor boy! peace to thy soul!
See the glow-worm lita her fairy lamp,
From a beam of the rising moon; On the heathy shore at evening fall,
"Twixt Holy-Loch and dark Dunoon; Her fairy lamp's pale silvery glare,
From the dew-clad, moorland flower, Invite my wandering footsteps there, •
At the lonely twilight hour.
When the distant beacon's revolving light
Bids my lone steps seek the shore, There the rush of the flow-tide's rippling wave
Meets the dash of the fisher's oar;
As she sea-ward tracks her way;
And robed in the misty gray.
When the glow-worm lits her elfin lamp,
It's sweet, on thy rock-bound shores, Dunoon,
Eliza! with thee, in this solitude,
Life's cares would pass away,
At the wake of early day.
TO MES IJNWIN.
Mary I I want a lyre with other strings,
Such aid from heaven as some have feigned they drew,
An eloquence not given to mortals, new, And undebased by praise of meaner things, That ere through age or woe I shed my wings,
I may record thy worth with honour due,
In verses musical, as thou art true,—
By seraphs writ with beams of heavenly light,
A chronicle of actions just and bright; There all thy deeds, my faithful Mary! shine, And since thou own'st that praise—I spare thee mine.
When, years of pain and peril past,
Man sinks into mature decay, And like a waning lamp at last
Exhausted nature dies away;—
Friends will lament the severed tie,
Yet resignation lends a sigh
To waft the parted soul to heaven.
But when disease untimely sends
And on the bed of death extends
Then close the clouds of gloomy night
O'er bright anticipation's sky, And love and blasted hopes unite
To steep the soul in agony.