 | Young Arthur |  |
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THE STRANGER'S TALE.
My name is Ernest; tir'd of tranquil life,To see the world, and mingle in its strife,
I left the spot where being first I knew
When eighteen summers light, and winters, drew
The mind to active hope; my guardians fir'd
My thirst for glory; as, by that inspir'd,
I drew the bow, the Britons' native pride;
And plac'd the arrow where but vainly tried
All of my age; for well my nerves were strung,
And sanguine hope this song for ever sung,
“Sloth and the coward win inglorious care,
The brave and active fortune and the fair.”
Near to the sea I dwelt; a vessel there
Once moor'd by chance, some damage to repair;
A front and port the captain bore that told
The wary leader, and the warrior bold;
His looks were fierce, yet gentle forms he knew,
And told of deeds that rapt attention drew:
A week he stay'd; my eager heart he won,
And still to greet Sir Gorman would I run;
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With all the soul, by valour rous'd, holds dear;
And as he spoke mark'd well my eager mind,
My sparkling eye, that told my soul inclin'd
To noble daring; doubly then he strove
To tempt my longing, and secure my love;
Enough—in short he won my soul's esteem,
I long'd for glory, and I saw its gleam;
The bold Sir Gorman tow'ring by my side,
I reach the vessel, and the deck I stride;
The anchor weigh'd, the sails unfurl'd to view,
I leave the old world, panting for the new:
Young hope look'd round; new was the scene and grand,
The spreading ocean and receding land,
The arching sky a bound'ry to the whole;
The heaving billow, and the vessel's roll;
The careless crew, the unaccustom'd cheer;
The pride of honour, and contempt of fear;
The seaman's nerve, activity, and skill;
The bark obedient to the master's will;
The trim set canvass, and the compass true,
The captain's rule, and order of the crew.
New was the scene, inspiring was the sight,
My mind all wonder, and my soul delight;
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One horrid night, that look'd like Nature's last,
A storm, tremendous, burst; down stream'd the rain,
Heard but not seen, for darkness hid the main;
Save, when the vivid sheet expos'd all 'round,
Then vanishing, made darkness more profound;
While shrieking winds with roaring billows vied,
Thunder's dread burst with rattling peal replied:
Now to the clouds we mounted, torn, and toss'd;
Then plum-down, sudden, in a gulph were lost;
While flying yards and spars against us dash'd;
Mast by the board went; quick, the sailors lash'd
Booms in reserve, with well-twin'd cordage fast,
And rais'd to service the fictitious mast.
A leak we sprung; “lost! lost!” the sailors cried,
“Dastards!” Sir Gorman furiously replied;
Flew to the pump himself, and set them on;
He who, though chief, through all had wonders done.
But to a pleasing picture let me turn;
The winds relax; with gratitude we learn
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And morning shews that 'neath bare poles we ride.
Yards, sails, sheets, blocks, and braces, strew the deck;
All hands are busied to repair the wreck;
From splic'd yards, sails (patch'd up in haste) expand;
Slowly tow'rds some dense mass a-head we stand,
And one rude burst of rapture hails the land!
A shore we near; a well known creek they view,
Cast anchor there; Sir Gorman and the crew
Now to refit prepare; at his command,
The boats are lower'd, and he rows to land;
The crew, part follow, part behind remain,
To guard the vessel; I the harbour gain;
I tread the land once more; with youthful zeal,
And grateful heart, to providence I kneel;
They mark the action, and with shouts decry,
And for thanksgiving large libations ply;
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And one insensate sleep envelopes all!
Shock'd by the savage horde; enrag'd, deceiv'd
By false Sir Gorman him I had believ'd
Honour's true son, and not a bandit, given
To brave humanity, and blaspheme Heaven;
Though strange the shore, chill'd horror bade me fly,
I plied with ardour ev'ry energy
To climb a cliff, o'ertowering where they lay;
And through a strait, chance, chink, an oft check'd way,
(By careful clinging, stopping, striving, oft,
Hanging by ledges, then from footing soft
Slipping) I found; and vigour gain'd from zeal,
I reach'd the summit; made to Heav'n appeal;
Then ran, nor rested till I reached a spot
Where in a grove had nature form'd a grot;
On heav'n relying, here, fatigued, repos'd;
And on my tablets thus my heart disclos'd.
| Young Arthur | |