The Fisher Boy A Poem Comprising his Several Avocations, during the four Seasons of the Year ... By H. C. [i.e. S. W. H. Ireland] |
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WINTER. |
 | The Fisher Boy |  |
87
WINTER.
88
THE ARGUMENT.
Winter described.—Barking the Seine.—Smugglers' Fears on beholding a Brig of War.—The Smugglers' Toast.—Trolling at Sea.—Produce of the Troll Net.—Loss of the Halse-well. —Smugglers set Sail for the Isles.—Pursued by the Alarm Brig.—Sinking Keggs.—Arrive near the Shore.—The Signal and Watch Word.—Reefing the Keggs for sinking.— Creepers described.—Ned on the Watch.—His Emotions.— Tempest encreases.—Wreck of the Boat.—Ned's Beacon for the Sufferers.—His Hardihood.—The Line thrown out.— Smugglers saved.—The drowned Seaman.—The Fisher-Boy at the Funeral.—His Conduct through Life, and Expectation after Death.
89
Blow, Boreas, blow, thy chilly pow'rs entail
On earth, now sterile, rain, frost, snow, and hail,
O'er ocean's expanse mists unceasing fleet,
And drench the shore with cold and mizzly sleet;
Or, if a transitory warmth bears sway,
Dark o'ercharg'd clouds soon scarf sol's sickly ray;
In sweeping floods the drenching torrents pour,
With swamps inundating the cheerless shore;
Now nightly keener blows the cutting breeze,
And of its latest clothing robs the trees,
Powders the soil, and makes it to the view
Brilliant appear, in robe of Parian hue:
While stars still brighter seem to lace the doom,
And glitter diamonds thro' the ebon gloom;
And when less nipping blows the frosty wind,
In sombre girdle is the earth confin'd,
Which loosen'd, sends the frozen drops below,
In feather'd whiteness of the flaky snow.
Thus Sagitarius brings in frost and wet,
With him no longer boasts the beach its net;
The haul of fishermen is seen no more,
Each twiny toil now farther borne in shore,
For barking's carried, and in the tan-pit's laid,
To strengthen seine 'gainst spring time's fishing trade,
For smuggling, larger boats o'er ocean rock,
To stem of winds and waves the wint'ry shock;
Impell'd by northern blasts, that whistle loud,
Brave surges mounting to the pendant cloud,
And long enur'd, the smugglers never dread,
But with expansive sails to Boreas spread;
Meet ev'ry veering of the angry gales,
All canvass press'd—fore, main, and mizen sails.
And as on shore, with spy-glass doth await,
Some watchful partner in th' expected freight,
Far in the offing he with fear espies,
The hated brig, far hov'ring for a prize;
While lynx-ey'd officers of custom's watch,
The cargoes of the smuggling boats to catch;
Or, station'd on the impress service, he
Oft views the sloop to nab good tars for sea.
'Tis then he hopes his smuggling friends may land,
And waits till midnight on the shingly strand;
Hails with delight the hour that greets his view
With vessel, messmates, and rich freightage too;
Laughs o'er the grog as he explains the fear,
Experienc'd when he saw each vessel near;
Whilst in return his partners, as they booze,
Recount each hazard of the little cruize;
With brimful can, and sly facetious wink,
They give the toast—“Success to smuggling drink.”
And as their consciences feel no alarm,
They swear they've done the revenue no harm;
Booze till quite groggy grown, they nodding stand,
And shake each other warmly by the hand;
Then reeling, to their sev'ral cots repair,
And in the arms of rest drown joy and care:
For, wrapt at once in sound unvarying sleep,
Forgot are all the perils of the deep;
Pain, pleasure, profit, e'en respiring breath,
By Somnus overcome in living death.
Yet hold, for here my muse should not forget,
To paint the throwing of the trolling net;
Which, far at sea, on sandy bottom cast,
Is never by unfriendly rock held fast.
There Ned, unmindful of the ruffled sea,
Toils as industrious as the honey'd bee;
With smiles obeys the troll-boat owner's will,
And strives to emulate more practis'd skill.
'Tis now the very produce, most despis'd
In Spring and Summer—is in Winter priz'd—
With pleasure now the fisher-boy will take,
His quantum of the ugly dark hued hake;
Nor less delight his anxious bosom feels,
To view the lead-complexion'd conger eels,
In span so bulky, in dimension long,
To touch quite slimy, and in motion strong.
These mostly constitute the troller's gain,
Who bless'd with them, ne'er thinks he toils in vain;
Willing endures winds, wet, frost, hail, and snow,
With all the perils of the depths below.
On earth, now sterile, rain, frost, snow, and hail,
O'er ocean's expanse mists unceasing fleet,
And drench the shore with cold and mizzly sleet;
Or, if a transitory warmth bears sway,
Dark o'ercharg'd clouds soon scarf sol's sickly ray;
In sweeping floods the drenching torrents pour,
With swamps inundating the cheerless shore;
Now nightly keener blows the cutting breeze,
And of its latest clothing robs the trees,
Powders the soil, and makes it to the view
Brilliant appear, in robe of Parian hue:
While stars still brighter seem to lace the doom,
And glitter diamonds thro' the ebon gloom;
90
In sombre girdle is the earth confin'd,
Which loosen'd, sends the frozen drops below,
In feather'd whiteness of the flaky snow.
Thus Sagitarius brings in frost and wet,
With him no longer boasts the beach its net;
The haul of fishermen is seen no more,
Each twiny toil now farther borne in shore,
For barking's carried, and in the tan-pit's laid,
To strengthen seine 'gainst spring time's fishing trade,
For smuggling, larger boats o'er ocean rock,
To stem of winds and waves the wint'ry shock;
Impell'd by northern blasts, that whistle loud,
Brave surges mounting to the pendant cloud,
91
But with expansive sails to Boreas spread;
Meet ev'ry veering of the angry gales,
All canvass press'd—fore, main, and mizen sails.
And as on shore, with spy-glass doth await,
Some watchful partner in th' expected freight,
Far in the offing he with fear espies,
The hated brig, far hov'ring for a prize;
While lynx-ey'd officers of custom's watch,
The cargoes of the smuggling boats to catch;
Or, station'd on the impress service, he
Oft views the sloop to nab good tars for sea.
92
And waits till midnight on the shingly strand;
Hails with delight the hour that greets his view
With vessel, messmates, and rich freightage too;
Laughs o'er the grog as he explains the fear,
Experienc'd when he saw each vessel near;
Whilst in return his partners, as they booze,
Recount each hazard of the little cruize;
With brimful can, and sly facetious wink,
They give the toast—“Success to smuggling drink.”
93
They swear they've done the revenue no harm;
Booze till quite groggy grown, they nodding stand,
And shake each other warmly by the hand;
Then reeling, to their sev'ral cots repair,
And in the arms of rest drown joy and care:
For, wrapt at once in sound unvarying sleep,
Forgot are all the perils of the deep;
Pain, pleasure, profit, e'en respiring breath,
By Somnus overcome in living death.
Yet hold, for here my muse should not forget,
To paint the throwing of the trolling net;
94
Is never by unfriendly rock held fast.
There Ned, unmindful of the ruffled sea,
Toils as industrious as the honey'd bee;
With smiles obeys the troll-boat owner's will,
And strives to emulate more practis'd skill.
'Tis now the very produce, most despis'd
In Spring and Summer—is in Winter priz'd—
With pleasure now the fisher-boy will take,
His quantum of the ugly dark hued hake;
Nor less delight his anxious bosom feels,
To view the lead-complexion'd conger eels,
95
To touch quite slimy, and in motion strong.
These mostly constitute the troller's gain,
Who bless'd with them, ne'er thinks he toils in vain;
Willing endures winds, wet, frost, hail, and snow,
With all the perils of the depths below.
Now to resume the theme I left so late,
Must prove my care—to paint the smuggler's fate,
My simple reed I tune—which bold employ
Ends all the labours of my fisher-boy.
Nor thou, drear Capricorn, in dread array,
Canst turn the smuggler from his toils away;
Nor can Aquarius, with his gloom o'erspread,
Infuse in fishermen the taint of dread;
From whom the tempests rage no fears can draw,
Who press-gangs spurn, and officers of law,
Risk life and wealth, a profit to ensure,
Which yields in age a competence secure.
Hail, then, ye harbingers of tempests dire,
And let your influence now my lays inspire;
Though last in song, oh! lend my fancy wing,
The horrors of your gloomy realms to sing;
When air, fire, water, ceaseless conflicts raise,
And elemental chaos frights the gaze;
When all in battled fury onward roll,
And shake the firm set earth from pole to pole;
Showing to mortal eyes fate's darkest womb,
And faintly picturing the day of doom.
Such scenes to draw, must now employ my lays,
Truth let me speak, although I cannot praise;
For wint'ry storms no other charms can bring,
Than as rough heralds of th' approaching spring.
Must prove my care—to paint the smuggler's fate,
My simple reed I tune—which bold employ
Ends all the labours of my fisher-boy.
96
Canst turn the smuggler from his toils away;
Nor can Aquarius, with his gloom o'erspread,
Infuse in fishermen the taint of dread;
From whom the tempests rage no fears can draw,
Who press-gangs spurn, and officers of law,
Risk life and wealth, a profit to ensure,
Which yields in age a competence secure.
Hail, then, ye harbingers of tempests dire,
And let your influence now my lays inspire;
Though last in song, oh! lend my fancy wing,
The horrors of your gloomy realms to sing;
When air, fire, water, ceaseless conflicts raise,
And elemental chaos frights the gaze;
When all in battled fury onward roll,
And shake the firm set earth from pole to pole;
Showing to mortal eyes fate's darkest womb,
And faintly picturing the day of doom.
97
Truth let me speak, although I cannot praise;
For wint'ry storms no other charms can bring,
Than as rough heralds of th' approaching spring.
'Twas to such bleak and inauspicious gales,
The Halsewell erst unfurl'd her ample sails,
When darkness shaded o'er the grave profound,
And echo'd loud discordant thunders round,
When winds and surges, each in fell array,
Alternate battled for tempestuous sway;
Then furious dash'd on Portland's craggy steep,
The sport of Boreas, and the rocking deep;
Successive blows the vessel's sides attack'd,
She yaw'd, while parting ev'ry timber crack'd,
Gave to the elemental conflict fierce,
Her seamen, and commander, hapless Pierce;
Around whose form, in agony then clung,
The fair, whose fate his manly bosom wrung;
Till, with convulsive shock, they met one doom,
In floods: their grave, their epitaph, and tomb.
The Halsewell erst unfurl'd her ample sails,
When darkness shaded o'er the grave profound,
And echo'd loud discordant thunders round,
When winds and surges, each in fell array,
Alternate battled for tempestuous sway;
Then furious dash'd on Portland's craggy steep,
The sport of Boreas, and the rocking deep;
Successive blows the vessel's sides attack'd,
She yaw'd, while parting ev'ry timber crack'd,
Gave to the elemental conflict fierce,
Her seamen, and commander, hapless Pierce;
98
The fair, whose fate his manly bosom wrung;
Till, with convulsive shock, they met one doom,
In floods: their grave, their epitaph, and tomb.
Here cease the sad recital—for my verse
Returns, the smuggling business to rehearse;
From truth's pure page the muse each feat shall quote,
And ev'ry act with nice precision note.
First mann'd with spreading sails the boat now view,
From western beach its buoyant track pursue;
Behold it as the shades of night draw near,
A fading speck upon the sight appear;
Though boist'rous still—the gale propitious blows—
And urges on the bark with darting throes;
In safety wafts it to the isle amain,
Whose traffic constitutes the smuggler's gain.
The boat there anchor'd lays, till safe stow'd in,
They view the kegs of brandy, rum, and gin;
Or, sometimes station'd by the veering wind,
For days they wait, till Boreas proves more kind;
Then once more steer towards their native shore,
To earn the profits of their mad'ning store;
Since spirits prove too oft the mental bane
For Reason, planting frenzy in the brain.
Returns, the smuggling business to rehearse;
From truth's pure page the muse each feat shall quote,
And ev'ry act with nice precision note.
First mann'd with spreading sails the boat now view,
From western beach its buoyant track pursue;
99
A fading speck upon the sight appear;
Though boist'rous still—the gale propitious blows—
And urges on the bark with darting throes;
In safety wafts it to the isle amain,
Whose traffic constitutes the smuggler's gain.
The boat there anchor'd lays, till safe stow'd in,
They view the kegs of brandy, rum, and gin;
Or, sometimes station'd by the veering wind,
For days they wait, till Boreas proves more kind;
Then once more steer towards their native shore,
To earn the profits of their mad'ning store;
Since spirits prove too oft the mental bane
For Reason, planting frenzy in the brain.
Now mark, with wind quite fair the sails they set,
With spray from shingle-broken surges wet;
Far from the isle ere long the main they plough,
And dip in foam the sharp and convex bow;
When, ah! what dread their fondest hopes disarm,
To view their foe, the well known brig—Alarm.
In vain she makes the signal to heave too;
They press all sail—the enemies pursue—
This for the flight prepares, and that for chace;
Each ploughs with eagerness the greeny space.
The one its freight from seizure to secure,
T' other th' illegal cargo to ensure.
And now upon the bark the war-brig gains,
Spite of th' smuggler's pray'rs, and ceaseless pains;
Fruitless th' attempt, though canvas still they press,
Th' approaching vessel heightens their distress;
Till desp'rate grown, with bitter oaths they swear,
The chacers never shall their cargo share;
For, rather than with spirits wash their junk,
They'll heave it o'er, to make old Davy drunk.
No sooner said, than each enacts his part,
In passion drowns the achings of the heart;
Plunges each flaggon 'midst old ocean's flow,
Which sunk, is lost in briny realms below.
At other times behold the smuggler's fleet
Outsail the brig, and thus the foe defeat;
Then gaining on the shore, by friends espy'd,
Who in the distance long the bark desery'd;
They with the rockets made, in case of need,
Ascend the rugged steep with trembling speed;
Whilst as the bark still makes towards the land,
'Gainst weather harden'd, Ned oft takes his stand;
With folded arms by night, looks sharp about,
His cry should danger threaten—“Ho—look out.”
No sooner heard the sound: in fiery flight
The rocket blazes, 'midst the realms of night;
Sure beacon for the crew, who long expert,
Thence learn some officer's on the alert;
Who, did they land the store, would seize the prize,
Condemn'd as forfeit to the strict excise:
From hungry officers, in wat'ry grave
The reef of kegs they then prepare to save;
Each flaggon to its fellow's soon made fast,
Thus lash'd, with dawn's returning, to be cast
Amidst the deep; while, for a mark in store,
They note some objects on the distant shore;
And thus commit their treasure to the main,
Until with creepers they return again;
Which hook the cordage of each reef when thrown,
And hauled up, give the smuggler back his own.
But should the angry surges, clad with white,
Buffet the little crew, their cots in sight,
The fisher-boy still anxious views the deep,
Unmindful of fatigue and want of sleep;
For though his watchful task is quite fulfill'd,
His honest breast, by nobler duties thrill'd,
No longer feeling for the smuggler's pelf,
He trembles only for the man himself;
Who, with his friends, by yawning dangers prest,
Ne'er hopes again to be with comforts bless'd;
But, as the distant hamlet meets his eye,
He silent speaks his anguish with a sigh;
Labours each dreadful peril to subdue,
That rises in succession to his view;
Till horror struck, the fears of death find scope,
And end at once the last faint ray of hope.
Now, clad in murky gloom, morn breaks apace,
When Ned more plainly views old ocean's face,
By winds distorted into mountains high,
A wat'ry Erebus, oppos'd to sky.
Loose play his dank locks in the nipping gale,
Drifting cold sleet comingled with sharp hail;
His jacket, chequer'd shirt, and trowsers blue,
Expos'd thro' night's fell storms, are soak'd quite thro';
Yet he, with folded arms and thought oppress'd,
Hugs the drench'd vestments closer to his breast,
While from his eager eyes, o'er billows cast,
Trickle the chrystal gems of pity fast.
Meantime, expectant on the shingle wait,
The hamlet's sons, to watch each messmate's fate;
Silent they stand, dejection clouds each brow,
While from their bosoms steal the mental vow.
Yet pray'rs are futile, for 'tis heav'n's decree,
The tempest's rage shall still deform the sea.
Exhausted now, each smuggler quits his oar,
And strives against impending fate no more;
With ghastly terror pictur'd in his eyes,
Looks upwards, and on God alone relies;
By furious billows dash'd, the boat makes way,
Gains the fell rocks, immers'd in clouds of spray;
By surges toss'd, the breakers now assail
Its oaken flanks, and loosen ev'ry nail;
Till with one crash the fabric piece-meal flies,
A scatter'd wreck before our sea-boy's eyes.
Ned o'er the shingle darts on wings of speed,
To lend assistance in this pressing need;
While in his rear, with tackle seamen haste,
To snatch their comrades from the wat'ry waste.
Now climbs our fisher-lad the rocky steep,
And gains its height to view with dread the deep;
Where planks, with sails, and shatter'd cordage float,
Dismantled remnants of the smuggler's boat.
Now strive the bark-wreck'd fishermen to save
Their threaten'd lives, from ocean's liquid grave;
With eagerness extend each pliant limb,
And combat death as they expertly swim.
Ned, from the rocky summit marks their toil,
'Tis now they ride o'er floods, and now recoil;
With beck'ning hand, and voice then sounding loud,
He onward hails the fast approaching crowd;
Points out the spot, where battling with the main,
Their brethren strive to make the land again;
An uprais'd oar Ned seizes next expert,
Then doffs his jacket, and his checker'd shirt,
Splices the same incontinent thereto,
A floating signal to the struggling crew.
In vain, the winds and wet his body beat,
He feels no numbness, arm'd with inward heat;
That god-like emanation—genial glow—
With mercy fraught to feel for other's woe.
Each fainting mariner, with dim fix'd eyes,
The signal from amidst the surge descries;
Flush'd with new hopes, his strokes redoubles straight,
Determin'd dearly to dispute his fate.
The friendly cord, with floating corks supplied,
Buoyant o'er billows gracefully doth ride;
While those still hold the rope, who line the strand,
To haul some grappling seamen to the land.
And now the fisher-boy beholds one soul
In safety clinging to the swimming goal;
A second follows, when, with eager call,
He sounds the welcome words—“They're too; haul, haul!”
Six thus preserv'd, half dead, are brought on shore,
But, ah! sad fate, there still remains one more,
Who, with the ninth day's turn of tranquil tide,
Floats lifeless on the liquid expanse wide;
Stiff, sodden, swell'd, and horrible to view,
His face devour'd—his corse of ashy hue:
Ned, who each coming day had ne'er forgot
Of this unfortunate, the hapless lot,
While watchful gazing on the wat'ry plains,
Beholds at length his alter'd sad remains,
Spread the alarm; a boat puts off—when Ned,
One of the crew, assists to haul the dead;
Shudders as o'er the spectacle he sighs,
While gems of chrystal brightness glaze his eyes.
With spray from shingle-broken surges wet;
100
And dip in foam the sharp and convex bow;
When, ah! what dread their fondest hopes disarm,
To view their foe, the well known brig—Alarm.
In vain she makes the signal to heave too;
They press all sail—the enemies pursue—
101
Each ploughs with eagerness the greeny space.
The one its freight from seizure to secure,
T' other th' illegal cargo to ensure.
And now upon the bark the war-brig gains,
Spite of th' smuggler's pray'rs, and ceaseless pains;
Fruitless th' attempt, though canvas still they press,
Th' approaching vessel heightens their distress;
Till desp'rate grown, with bitter oaths they swear,
The chacers never shall their cargo share;
For, rather than with spirits wash their junk,
They'll heave it o'er, to make old Davy drunk.
No sooner said, than each enacts his part,
In passion drowns the achings of the heart;
102
Which sunk, is lost in briny realms below.
At other times behold the smuggler's fleet
Outsail the brig, and thus the foe defeat;
Then gaining on the shore, by friends espy'd,
Who in the distance long the bark desery'd;
They with the rockets made, in case of need,
Ascend the rugged steep with trembling speed;
Whilst as the bark still makes towards the land,
'Gainst weather harden'd, Ned oft takes his stand;
103
His cry should danger threaten—“Ho—look out.”
No sooner heard the sound: in fiery flight
The rocket blazes, 'midst the realms of night;
Sure beacon for the crew, who long expert,
Thence learn some officer's on the alert;
Who, did they land the store, would seize the prize,
Condemn'd as forfeit to the strict excise:
From hungry officers, in wat'ry grave
The reef of kegs they then prepare to save;
104
Thus lash'd, with dawn's returning, to be cast
Amidst the deep; while, for a mark in store,
They note some objects on the distant shore;
And thus commit their treasure to the main,
Until with creepers they return again;
Which hook the cordage of each reef when thrown,
And hauled up, give the smuggler back his own.
But should the angry surges, clad with white,
Buffet the little crew, their cots in sight,
105
Unmindful of fatigue and want of sleep;
For though his watchful task is quite fulfill'd,
His honest breast, by nobler duties thrill'd,
No longer feeling for the smuggler's pelf,
He trembles only for the man himself;
Who, with his friends, by yawning dangers prest,
Ne'er hopes again to be with comforts bless'd;
But, as the distant hamlet meets his eye,
He silent speaks his anguish with a sigh;
Labours each dreadful peril to subdue,
That rises in succession to his view;
Till horror struck, the fears of death find scope,
And end at once the last faint ray of hope.
Now, clad in murky gloom, morn breaks apace,
When Ned more plainly views old ocean's face,
By winds distorted into mountains high,
A wat'ry Erebus, oppos'd to sky.
106
Drifting cold sleet comingled with sharp hail;
His jacket, chequer'd shirt, and trowsers blue,
Expos'd thro' night's fell storms, are soak'd quite thro';
Yet he, with folded arms and thought oppress'd,
Hugs the drench'd vestments closer to his breast,
While from his eager eyes, o'er billows cast,
Trickle the chrystal gems of pity fast.
Meantime, expectant on the shingle wait,
The hamlet's sons, to watch each messmate's fate;
Silent they stand, dejection clouds each brow,
While from their bosoms steal the mental vow.
Yet pray'rs are futile, for 'tis heav'n's decree,
The tempest's rage shall still deform the sea.
Exhausted now, each smuggler quits his oar,
And strives against impending fate no more;
With ghastly terror pictur'd in his eyes,
Looks upwards, and on God alone relies;
107
Gains the fell rocks, immers'd in clouds of spray;
By surges toss'd, the breakers now assail
Its oaken flanks, and loosen ev'ry nail;
Till with one crash the fabric piece-meal flies,
A scatter'd wreck before our sea-boy's eyes.
Ned o'er the shingle darts on wings of speed,
To lend assistance in this pressing need;
While in his rear, with tackle seamen haste,
To snatch their comrades from the wat'ry waste.
108
And gains its height to view with dread the deep;
Where planks, with sails, and shatter'd cordage float,
Dismantled remnants of the smuggler's boat.
Now strive the bark-wreck'd fishermen to save
Their threaten'd lives, from ocean's liquid grave;
With eagerness extend each pliant limb,
And combat death as they expertly swim.
Ned, from the rocky summit marks their toil,
'Tis now they ride o'er floods, and now recoil;
With beck'ning hand, and voice then sounding loud,
He onward hails the fast approaching crowd;
Points out the spot, where battling with the main,
Their brethren strive to make the land again;
An uprais'd oar Ned seizes next expert,
Then doffs his jacket, and his checker'd shirt,
Splices the same incontinent thereto,
A floating signal to the struggling crew.
109
He feels no numbness, arm'd with inward heat;
That god-like emanation—genial glow—
With mercy fraught to feel for other's woe.
Each fainting mariner, with dim fix'd eyes,
The signal from amidst the surge descries;
Flush'd with new hopes, his strokes redoubles straight,
Determin'd dearly to dispute his fate.
The friendly cord, with floating corks supplied,
Buoyant o'er billows gracefully doth ride;
While those still hold the rope, who line the strand,
To haul some grappling seamen to the land.
110
In safety clinging to the swimming goal;
A second follows, when, with eager call,
He sounds the welcome words—“They're too; haul, haul!”
Six thus preserv'd, half dead, are brought on shore,
But, ah! sad fate, there still remains one more,
Who, with the ninth day's turn of tranquil tide,
Floats lifeless on the liquid expanse wide;
Stiff, sodden, swell'd, and horrible to view,
His face devour'd—his corse of ashy hue:
111
Of this unfortunate, the hapless lot,
112
Beholds at length his alter'd sad remains,
113
One of the crew, assists to haul the dead;
114
While gems of chrystal brightness glaze his eyes.
To church next Sabbath-day our urchin goes,
To share in all the widow's heart-felt woes;
Close by the mourner pensive takes his place,
No cambric to enshroud his piteous face;
A woollen cap uprais'd his front conceals,
While purest sympathy his heart reveals.
And as the village pastor reads aloud
The solemn service to the list'ning crowd,
The theme impressive, thrills my little lad,
With feelings awefully sublime and sad.
The rites then ended, slowly are convey'd
The cold remains, in churchyard to be laid;
Where the sad final words attend the just,
Giving to ashes, ashes—dust to dust.
And now return'd to cot, the fisher-boy
Thinks on the smuggler's dangerous employ;
Assail'd by storms, and press-gangs to surprize,
War brigs, and officers of the excise,
Perils, that in succession ceaseless throw,
O'er hopes of profit, all the fears of woe.
Such are the thoughts of Ned, who charm'd my muse,
And simple facts thus taught her to infuse;
Whose pride is honesty—whose hard-earn'd gains
Are bless'd in soothing a sad parent's pains;
Who lives to learn that life is but a span,
That God requites just deeds 'twixt man and man;
In which conviction he is doubly bless'd,
His conduct here ensuring future rest:
As friend of all, he harbours no foul hate—
Content—he envies not a monarch's fate.
And well assur'd a parent claims his love,
He feels a secret impulse from above;
A ray that animates his earthly clod,
With hopes of everlasting peace with God.
To share in all the widow's heart-felt woes;
Close by the mourner pensive takes his place,
No cambric to enshroud his piteous face;
A woollen cap uprais'd his front conceals,
While purest sympathy his heart reveals.
And as the village pastor reads aloud
The solemn service to the list'ning crowd,
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With feelings awefully sublime and sad.
The rites then ended, slowly are convey'd
The cold remains, in churchyard to be laid;
Where the sad final words attend the just,
Giving to ashes, ashes—dust to dust.
And now return'd to cot, the fisher-boy
Thinks on the smuggler's dangerous employ;
Assail'd by storms, and press-gangs to surprize,
War brigs, and officers of the excise,
Perils, that in succession ceaseless throw,
O'er hopes of profit, all the fears of woe.
Such are the thoughts of Ned, who charm'd my muse,
And simple facts thus taught her to infuse;
Whose pride is honesty—whose hard-earn'd gains
Are bless'd in soothing a sad parent's pains;
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That God requites just deeds 'twixt man and man;
In which conviction he is doubly bless'd,
His conduct here ensuring future rest:
As friend of all, he harbours no foul hate—
Content—he envies not a monarch's fate.
And well assur'd a parent claims his love,
He feels a secret impulse from above;
A ray that animates his earthly clod,
With hopes of everlasting peace with God.
| The Fisher Boy | |