denounced me as a plagiarist from himself for having described a boy applying a sea-shell to his ear and listening to it for intimations of what was going on in its native element. This I had done myself scores of times, and it was a belief among us that we could know from the sound whether the tide was ebbing or flowing.]
WHAT mischief cleaves to unsubdued regret, How fancy sickens by vague hopes beset; How baffled projects on the spirit prey, And fruitless wishes eat the heart away, The Sailor knows; he best, whose lot is cast On the relentless sea that holds him fast On chance dependent, and the fickle star Of power, through long and melancholy war. O sad it is, in sight of foreign shores,
Daily to think on old familiar doors,
Hearths loved in childhood, and ancestral floors; Or, tossed about along a waste of foam,
To ruminate on that delightful home
Which with the dear Betrothed was to come; Or came and was and is, yet meets the eye Never but in the world of memory;
Or in a dream recalled, whose smoothest range Is crossed by knowledge, or by dread, of change, And if not so, whose perfect joy makes sleep A thing too bright for breathing man to keep. Hail to the virtues which that perilous life Extracts from Nature's elemental strife; And welcome glory won in battles fought As bravely as the foe was keenly sought. But to each gallant Captain and his crew A less imperious sympathy is due,
Such as my verse now yields, while moonbeams play On the mute sea in this unruffled bay;
Such as will promptly flow from every breast, Where good men, disappointed in the quest Of wealth and power and honours, long for rest; Or, having known the splendours of success, Sigh for the obscurities of happiness.
THE Crescent-moon, the Star of Love, Glories of evening, as ye there are seen With but a span of sky between— Speak one of you, my doubts remove, Which is the attendant Page and which the Queen ?
(COMPOSED BY THE SEA-SIDE, ON THE COAST OF CUMBERLAND.)
WANDERER! that stoop'st so low, and com'st so near To human life's unsettled atmosphere;
Who lov'st with Night and Silence to partake, So might it seem, the cares of them that wake; And, through the cottage-lattice softly peeping, Dost shield from harm the humblest of the sleeping; What pleasure once encompassed those sweet names Which yet in thy behalf the Poet claims,
An idolizing dreamer as of yore!—
I slight them all; and, on this sea-beat shore
Sole-sitting, only can to thoughts attend
That bid me hail thee as the SAILOR'S FRIEND;
So call thee for heaven's grace through thee made known By confidence supplied and mercy shown,
When not a twinkling star or beacon's light Abates the perils of a stormy night;
And for less obvious benefits, that find
Their way, with thy pure help, to heart and mind; Both for the adventurer starting in life's prime; And veteran ranging round from clime to clime, Long-baffled hope's slow fever in his veins,
And wounds and weakness oft his labour's sole remains. The aspiring Mountains and the winding Streams, Empress of Night! are gladdened by thy beams; A look of thine the wilderness pervades, And penetrates the forest's inmost shades; Thou, chequering peaceably the minster's gloom, Guid'st the pale Mourner to the lost one's tomb; Canst reach the Prisoner-to his grated cell Welcome, though silent and intangible !— And lives there one, of all that come and On the great waters toiling to and fro,
One, who has watched thee at some quiet hour Enthroned aloft in undisputed power,
Or crossed by vapoury streaks and clouds that move Catching the lustre they in part reprove-
Nor sometimes felt a fitness in thy sway
To call up thoughts that shun the glare of day, And make the serious happier than the gay? Yes, lovely Moon! if thou so mildly bright Dost rouse, yet surely in thy own despite, To fiercer mood the phrenzy-stricken brain, Let me a compensating faith maintain;
That there's a sensitive, a tender,
Which thou canst touch in every human heart, For healing and composure.-But, as least And mightiest billows ever have confessed Thy domination; as the whole vast Sea
Feels through her lowest depths thy sovereignty; So shines that countenance with especial grace On them who urge the keel her plains to trace Furrowing its way right onward. The most rude, Cut off from home and country, may have stood- Even till long gazing hath bedimmed his eye, Or the mute rapture ended in a sigh- Touched by accordance of thy placid cheer, With some internal lights to memory dear, Or fancies stealing forth to soothe the breast Tired with its daily share of earth's unrest,- Gentle awakenings, visitations meek;
A kindly influence whereof few will speak, Though it can wet with tears the hardiest cheek. And when thy beauty in the shadowy cave Is hidden, buried in its monthly grave; Then, while the Sailor, mid an open sea Swept by a favouring wind that leaves thought free, Paces the deck-no star perhaps in sight, And nothing save the moving ship's own light To cheer the long dark hours of vacant night- Oft with his musings does thy image blend, In his mind's eye thy crescent horns ascend, And thou art still, O Moon, that SAILOR'S FRIEND!
QUEEN of the stars!-so gentle, so benign, That ancient Fable did to thee assign, When darkness creeping o'er thy silver brow Warned thee these upper regions to forego, Alternate empire in the shades below-
A Bard, who, lately near the wide-spread sea Traversed by gleaming ships, looked up to thee With grateful thoughts, doth now thy rising hail From the close confines of a shadowy vale. Glory of night, conspicuous yet serene, Nor less attractive when by glimpses seen Through cloudy umbrage, well might that fair face, And all those attributes of modest grace,
In days when Fancy wrought unchecked by fear, Down to the green earth fetch thee from thy sphere, To sit in leafy woods by fountains clear!
O still beloved (for thine, meek Power, are charms That fascinate the very Babe in arms,
While he, uplifted towards thee, laughs outright, Spreading his little palms in his glad Mother's sight) O still beloved, once worshipped! Time, that frowns In his destructive flight on earthly crowns,
Spares thy mild splendour; still those far-shot beams. Tremble on dancing waves and rippling streams With stainless touch, as chaste as when thy praise Was sung by Virgin-choirs in festal lays;
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