 | The Poetical Works of Robert Anderson |  |
THE SHIP-WRECKED SEA-BOY.
'Tis night—all around me the chill blast is howling;
The harsh-screaming sea-bird now scar'd hovers nigh;
The voice of great Heav'n in loud thunder is rolling:
Alas! nor for shelter, nor rest can I fly!
I mark by the lightning's blue gleam the wreck floating,
Of her that long triumph'd o'er each threat'ning wave;
I, alone, to this rock, 'scap'd the merciless ocean,
While comrades, more blest, found a watery grave!
The harsh-screaming sea-bird now scar'd hovers nigh;
The voice of great Heav'n in loud thunder is rolling:
Alas! nor for shelter, nor rest can I fly!
I mark by the lightning's blue gleam the wreck floating,
Of her that long triumph'd o'er each threat'ning wave;
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While comrades, more blest, found a watery grave!
More blest! 'Tis not so! If unpitied I perish,
To me, some few hours for reflection are giv'n,
A hope for the grey dawn of morning I'll cherish;
We ne'er should arraign the decrees of Just Hfav'n!
How still'd seems the tempest!—Yon beauteous moon rising,
I'll gaze on, awhile, my sunk spirits to cheer:—
That sound! was it human?—again hark!—'tis coming!
Ah me!—the wild half-famish'd wolf I but hear!
To me, some few hours for reflection are giv'n,
A hope for the grey dawn of morning I'll cherish;
We ne'er should arraign the decrees of Just Hfav'n!
How still'd seems the tempest!—Yon beauteous moon rising,
I'll gaze on, awhile, my sunk spirits to cheer:—
That sound! was it human?—again hark!—'tis coming!
Ah me!—the wild half-famish'd wolf I but hear!
My father, grown old!—my affectionate mother!
You'll look for poor Henry, but long watch in vain;
My sister! how lovely!—my helpless young brother!
Ne'er, ne'er will you share my caresses again!
With you, the long day will be spent in deep mourning;
The bones of the sea-boy must bleach on the shore!
Now dim grows my sight!—Oh! this fever'd brain's burning!
I come, welcome Death!—All my sorrows are o'er!
You'll look for poor Henry, but long watch in vain;
My sister! how lovely!—my helpless young brother!
Ne'er, ne'er will you share my caresses again!
With you, the long day will be spent in deep mourning;
The bones of the sea-boy must bleach on the shore!
Now dim grows my sight!—Oh! this fever'd brain's burning!
I come, welcome Death!—All my sorrows are o'er!
| The Poetical Works of Robert Anderson | |