 | The Sorrows of Rosalie |  |
99
On T. B. S.
Blow, ye loud winds! roll on, thou restless main!
For he we loved will never sail again!
Once, as the vessel left the fading shore,
We listened to the billows' reckless roar,
And shrank in terror as we raised our eyes,
And prayed for calmer seas and brighter skies,
And gentler winds, to waft the young, the gay,
Far from his native land, on stormy seas away!—
But now, no more we raise that useless prayer,
Vain are the prosperous gales and favouring air—
What reck we now that calm is every wave?
The sunbeams fall upon his distant grave!
What reck we that, calm rippling to the shore,
They murmur round his bed, their sound shall wake no more!—
Blow, ye wild winds! roll on thou restless main!
For he we loved shall never sail again!
For he we loved will never sail again!
Once, as the vessel left the fading shore,
We listened to the billows' reckless roar,
110
And prayed for calmer seas and brighter skies,
And gentler winds, to waft the young, the gay,
Far from his native land, on stormy seas away!—
But now, no more we raise that useless prayer,
Vain are the prosperous gales and favouring air—
What reck we now that calm is every wave?
The sunbeams fall upon his distant grave!
What reck we that, calm rippling to the shore,
They murmur round his bed, their sound shall wake no more!—
Blow, ye wild winds! roll on thou restless main!
For he we loved shall never sail again!
Roll, ye tossed vessels! on the stormy sea,
No bark brings back the young, the gay, the free!
No more we watch each snowy sunlit sail
That swells impatient in the homeward gale;
No more we strain our orbs to that dark speck
We fancied was the vessel, on whose deck
The wanderer doomed, alas! again to roam,
Stood gazing on that land, his ocean-circled home.
His home! oh, say is that in English land?
Then wherefore lingers he on foreign strand?
His home! oh! far away on distant shore
He lies, nor dreams of home or country more!
No more those bright eyes sparkle at the sound—
“Haste! for the bark is now for Britain bound.”
That warm light heart which bounded at each meeting,
God gave the word, and it hath ceased its beating—
Sail, ye tossed vessels! on the stormy sea,
Bark after bark returns—in vain! for where is he?
No bark brings back the young, the gay, the free!
No more we watch each snowy sunlit sail
That swells impatient in the homeward gale;
No more we strain our orbs to that dark speck
We fancied was the vessel, on whose deck
The wanderer doomed, alas! again to roam,
Stood gazing on that land, his ocean-circled home.
His home! oh, say is that in English land?
Then wherefore lingers he on foreign strand?
111
He lies, nor dreams of home or country more!
No more those bright eyes sparkle at the sound—
“Haste! for the bark is now for Britain bound.”
That warm light heart which bounded at each meeting,
God gave the word, and it hath ceased its beating—
Sail, ye tossed vessels! on the stormy sea,
Bark after bark returns—in vain! for where is he?
| The Sorrows of Rosalie | |