‘ 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.
‘ But lips, which till then never said A word to cause any one pain, Inform'd me, when reason had fled, Of a conflict it could not sustain.
‘ And he, who had wish'd to conceal That the woman he lov'd had been poor, Began all his folly to feel, When the victim could hearken no more.
‘ Yet still for himself did he mourn, And, indignant, I fled from the view: For my wrongs were not easily borne, And my anger was hard to subdue.
‘ One prop, one sole comfort, remain'd, Who saw me o'erladen with grief, Who saw ( though I never complain'd ) My heart was too sick for relief.
‘ One, who always attentive and dear, Every effort exerted to please, My desolate prospect to cheer, To study my health and my ease.
‘ For his was each toil and each care, The due observations to keep; To sit watching amid the night air, And fancy his father asleep.
‘ Yet, dejected, and sadly forlorn, I dar'd in my heart to repine,— To lament that I ever was born, Though such worth and affection were mine.
‘ Alas! I was destin'd to know, However intense my despair, I still was reserv'd for a blow, More painful and cruel to bear.
‘ Yes! this only one fell in the main! — I eagerly struggled to save; But I strove with the current in vain, And saw him sink under the wave!
‘ My head was astounded and wild,— Incessant I roam'd on the shore, To seek the dead corse of my child, And to weep on his bosom once more.
‘ Seven days undisturb'd was the sky, The eighth was a tempest most drear, I saw the huge billow rise high! I saw my lost treasure appear!
‘ Like a dream it seem'd passing away:— I hurried me onward to meet, And clasp the inanimate clay, When senseless I sunk at his feet.
‘ These hands, now enfeebled by time, The last pious offices paid! Age sorrow'd o'er youth in its prime, And my boy near his mother was laid.
‘ Now scar'd by the griefs I have known, Wounds, apathy only can heal, My joys and my sorrows are flown, For I have forgotten to feel.
‘ But I know my Creator is just, That his hand will deliver me soon; I have learnt to submit and to trust, Though I finish my journey alone.’
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