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POOR MARIANA.
Poor Mariana! the scene is so bleak,
As shivering and lonely she goes,
The wind causes half the big tear on her cheek,
While round her it whistles and blows.
As shivering and lonely she goes,
The wind causes half the big tear on her cheek,
While round her it whistles and blows.
“But why is she out, with a prospect so drear,
Beneath the cold, lowering sky?”
Methinks is the question which many appear
To ask, by a look, or a sigh.
Beneath the cold, lowering sky?”
Methinks is the question which many appear
To ask, by a look, or a sigh.
Of poor Mariana but sad is the tale;
For she is the fisherman's child,
Who climbed up the rock, when the furious gale
Turned all the black waters so wild.
For she is the fisherman's child,
Who climbed up the rock, when the furious gale
Turned all the black waters so wild.
Whilst there she stood, trembling and pale on the cliff,
And reached forth an impotent hand,
She knew 't was her father far out, in the skiff,
Hard struggling to make for the land.
And reached forth an impotent hand,
She knew 't was her father far out, in the skiff,
Hard struggling to make for the land.
Yet wild was the ocean, and sudden the flaw
That kept the frail boat from the shore.
She watched the reefed sail till submerged,—but she saw
The boat and her father no more.
That kept the frail boat from the shore.
She watched the reefed sail till submerged,—but she saw
The boat and her father no more.
The sight was a blast to her tender young mind;—
She shrieked, falling faint on the rock:
A ruin of reason was all that behind
Remained, ever after the shock.
She shrieked, falling faint on the rock:
A ruin of reason was all that behind
Remained, ever after the shock.
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When found, and reviving, all startling and pale,
The fisherman's poor orphan child
Seemed still to behold the lone boat in the gale,
'Mid billows, black, foaming, and wild.
The fisherman's poor orphan child
Seemed still to behold the lone boat in the gale,
'Mid billows, black, foaming, and wild.
Her mind is unsettled, and roving her eye;
And oft will she harmlessly roam,
To watch the light figures in clouds on the sky,
Or, round the sea-rocks, in the foam.
And oft will she harmlessly roam,
To watch the light figures in clouds on the sky,
Or, round the sea-rocks, in the foam.
She plucks purple berries, or bright scarlet haws,
In clusters that hang on the stem;
And sits by the sea-side, to string them on straws,
And throws in thick trusses of them.
In clusters that hang on the stem;
And sits by the sea-side, to string them on straws,
And throws in thick trusses of them.
Then, when the sunned waters are quiet and pure,
She asks little fishes—that, drawn
So near she can see them to nibble the lure—
To show where her father is gone.
She asks little fishes—that, drawn
So near she can see them to nibble the lure—
To show where her father is gone.
She gathers wild flowers, that in bouquets she ties,
Then throws them far off on the wave;
And bids them go out where her dear father lies,
And hang, bright and sweet, o'er his grave.
Then throws them far off on the wave;
And bids them go out where her dear father lies,
And hang, bright and sweet, o'er his grave.
In autumn, or spring, in her mantle and hood,
When clouds are portending a storm,
She gathers light fagots, and fragments of wood,
Her mother's poor hearthstone to warm.
When clouds are portending a storm,
She gathers light fagots, and fragments of wood,
Her mother's poor hearthstone to warm.
For small is their cabin, hard down by the sea,
And far less convenient than small;
The rain and the wind, in the storms, making free
To pour through the roof and the wall.
And far less convenient than small;
The rain and the wind, in the storms, making free
To pour through the roof and the wall.
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And poor Mariana oft shakes with the cold,
Her form is so scantily dressed;
Yet gentle is she as a lamb in the fold,
And harmless as dove in its nest.
Her form is so scantily dressed;
Yet gentle is she as a lamb in the fold,
And harmless as dove in its nest.
At times will she sing, while so sad is the strain,—
So dirge-like and melting,—your tear
Would gush, and your heart feel strange pleasure and pain,
Her wild, plaintive music to hear.
So dirge-like and melting,—your tear
Would gush, and your heart feel strange pleasure and pain,
Her wild, plaintive music to hear.
Alas! it is mournful and solemn to see
Such ruins of reason remain,
And know the affections most holy to be
The cause that disordered her brain.
Such ruins of reason remain,
And know the affections most holy to be
The cause that disordered her brain.
Young daughter of sorrow, God bless thee, and heal
The heart and the mind he hath torn,
And bear on his bosom, and mark with his seal,
The lamb he so early hath shorn!
The heart and the mind he hath torn,
And bear on his bosom, and mark with his seal,
The lamb he so early hath shorn!
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