The Desolation of Eyam The Emigrant, a Tale of the American Woods: and other poems. By William and Mary Howitt |
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LAMENT FOR THE MARINER.
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 | The Desolation of Eyam |  |
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LAMENT FOR THE MARINER.
IN MEMORY OF A BELOVED YOUTH WHO DIED AT QUEBEC, 4TH OF 11TH MONTH, 1825.
“He should have died in his own loved land,
With friends and kindred near him;
Not have withered thus on a foreign strand,
With no thought save of heaven to cheer him.”
Alaric A. Watts.
With friends and kindred near him;
Not have withered thus on a foreign strand,
With no thought save of heaven to cheer him.”
Alaric A. Watts.
The ship toiled on her northern way
Through the tempestuous main;
From day to day, from day to day,
She sought the land in vain.
Through the tempestuous main;
From day to day, from day to day,
She sought the land in vain.
The ship toiled on her northern way
Amid the stormy din;
From day to day, failed with delay,
The weary heart within.
Amid the stormy din;
From day to day, failed with delay,
The weary heart within.
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The weary heart!—and who might bear
That burden in his breast?
The young—and till grief found him there,
Most blessed of the blest.
That burden in his breast?
The young—and till grief found him there,
Most blessed of the blest.
The gallant boy! the generous boy!
His brief career had run,
One dream of youth's resistless joy,
A morning in the sun.
His brief career had run,
One dream of youth's resistless joy,
A morning in the sun.
He grew, where spirits like his own
Clasped him in love and pride;
He sprang, where Nature from her throne
Flings sylvan glories wide.
Clasped him in love and pride;
He sprang, where Nature from her throne
Flings sylvan glories wide.
As bounds the chamois on the hill,
As leaps the stream in light;
So, winged by pleasure's purest thrill,
His bosom feared no blight.
As leaps the stream in light;
So, winged by pleasure's purest thrill,
His bosom feared no blight.
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Alas! borne thence a dreary length;
Listening the ocean's roll,
The fever's fire consumed his strength—
The fever of the soul.
Listening the ocean's roll,
The fever's fire consumed his strength—
The fever of the soul.
There were watchers round his restless bed,
But not of love's kindred band:
And his heart with the rushing memories bled
Of his home in his father's land.
But not of love's kindred band:
And his heart with the rushing memories bled
Of his home in his father's land.
From day to day—from wave to wave,
He lay in that trance of mind;
Before him a nameless, foreign grave,
And his blessed youth behind.
He lay in that trance of mind;
Before him a nameless, foreign grave,
And his blessed youth behind.
The ship toiled on her northern way,—
At length she touched the shore,
And the seamen, in their sad array,
To the town the sufferer bore.
At length she touched the shore,
And the seamen, in their sad array,
To the town the sufferer bore.
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They bore him, as the autumn gale
Bears up a leaflet sere,
As lately green—as sadly frail,—
As soon to disappear.
Bears up a leaflet sere,
As lately green—as sadly frail,—
As soon to disappear.
They bore him where his God bestowed,
Even in that stranger-land,
Hearts that with streaming love o'erflowed,
Like springs in the desert sand.
Even in that stranger-land,
Hearts that with streaming love o'erflowed,
Like springs in the desert sand.
The ship put back—the breeze astir
Lent fleetness in its sport;
And anxious eyes were fixed on her
As she neared her native port.
Lent fleetness in its sport;
And anxious eyes were fixed on her
As she neared her native port.
She came like a winged thing of wealth,
Firm timbered—tackle trim;
And the crew leaped out in the joy of health,
But the strained eye saw not him.
Firm timbered—tackle trim;
And the crew leaped out in the joy of health,
But the strained eye saw not him.
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Thou stem of hope—thou soul of mirth,
Oh God! and can it be!
And has the bright and breathing earth
Forever closed on thee!
Oh God! and can it be!
And has the bright and breathing earth
Forever closed on thee!
Nothing! and art thou nothing now?
Seen—loved—caressed—yet fled!
That voice—that soul—that laughing brow—
We will not think thee dead.
Seen—loved—caressed—yet fled!
That voice—that soul—that laughing brow—
We will not think thee dead.
It cannot be to die—with those
We loved elsewhere to live!
It cannot be to die—whilst glows
The life love's heart can give!
We loved elsewhere to live!
It cannot be to die—whilst glows
The life love's heart can give!
Sleep on then—thou art living still!
For whilst our hearts are led
By love's quick cords—by memory's thrill,
Thou canst not there be dead.
For whilst our hearts are led
By love's quick cords—by memory's thrill,
Thou canst not there be dead.
| The Desolation of Eyam | |