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 | Miscellanies (1785) |  |
Thus the poor mariner, his traffic o'er,
Crouds ev'ry sail to reach his native shore,
With smiles he marks the pennons stream to port,
And climbs the top-mast mast to eye the fort;
Dim through the mist the distant lands appears,
And far he slopes to hail it with his tears;
From foreign regions, foreign faces come,
Anxious he seeks his much-lov'd friends at home,
Warm, and more warm, the social passions glows,
As near and nearer to the place he goes;
Quick beats his heart as pressing on he sees
His own fair cottage canopy'd with trees;
For there, in blessed health, he hopes to find
His wife and cradled infant left behind;
Panting, he plucks the latch that guards the door,
But finds his wife, his cradled babe no more!
Like some sad ghost he wanders o'er the green,
Droops on the blossom'd waste, and loaths the scene
Crouds ev'ry sail to reach his native shore,
With smiles he marks the pennons stream to port,
And climbs the top-mast mast to eye the fort;
Dim through the mist the distant lands appears,
And far he slopes to hail it with his tears;
From foreign regions, foreign faces come,
Anxious he seeks his much-lov'd friends at home,
Warm, and more warm, the social passions glows,
As near and nearer to the place he goes;
Quick beats his heart as pressing on he sees
His own fair cottage canopy'd with trees;
For there, in blessed health, he hopes to find
His wife and cradled infant left behind;
Panting, he plucks the latch that guards the door,
But finds his wife, his cradled babe no more!
Like some sad ghost he wanders o'er the green,
Droops on the blossom'd waste, and loaths the scene
| Miscellanies (1785) | |