 | The forest minstrel |  |
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THE SHIPWRECK.
The ship was sweeping homeward in her pride,With white sails swelling o'er the deep green sea,
On which the spirits of the moonlight danced
In wavering cotillions, to the tones
Of glad old ocean's everlasting song
The night sat still and silent, 'neath the arch
Of her blue airy temple, whence the meek,
And deep bright glances of heaven's watchers look
On all earth's deeds. Oh! if heaven registers
But half the acts they witness, what a score
Will blast the conscience of a guilty world,
When doomsday's book is opened!
But the ship,
In majesty of motion riding on,
Bore in her bosom many living souls,
Of various tempers, fortunes, hopes, and aims.
First were the gallant crew. The officers,
Each steady to his trust, and well aware
That this fair vessel's destiny, the fates
Of all on board, depended on their care.
The brave tars next, each to his duty true,
Stood firmly at his post, or climbed the shroud,
Or held the flying tackle; ready still
To catch and execute the master's word.
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That proudly spurned at danger, and they seemed
To have no thought or purpose, separate
From that fair moving palace. Yet the eye
That looks into the spirit, could discern
Deep thoughts of home, with its rich holy loves,
Playing around their hearts, as silently
They paced the deck, or cast along the wave
The tender anxious glance, or look toward heaven,
With supplication on the sunburnt face.
Ah, yes, the roving sailor has a heart;
His steel-cased breast is full of tenderness,
Which gushes ever at the blessed word, Home.
And these were dreaming, sleeping or awake,
Of joys and welcomes waiting for them there.
Yet one stood gazing o'er the vessel's side,
Who had no home in all the joyous earth.
He knew not where his infancy was passed,
Nor did the image of a mother live
Amid the cherished memories of his soul.
His earliest recollections hovered round
A thin and pale though noble-looking man,
Who used to look with fond but restless eye
Upon his childish sports; and on his mind
A broken dreamy recollection dwelt,
Of a confused and agitated scene,
When that pale man lay moaning on a couch,
And said, as one supported his weak form,
“Come, kiss your dying father, Isadore.”
And he remembered, too, how he had shrunk
With childhood's sobbing terror, from the glance
Of a white-headed and hard-featured man,
Who sternly said, “Bow to your grandfather!”
And there were none to love him, none to press
The warm fond kiss upon his little brow;
To clasp him fondly to affection's breast;
To soothe his little woes and guide his sports.
And he was lonely, for his spirit lacked
The living balsam of parental love,
Which heals the wounds that otherwise remain
To ache, and fester, and embitter life.
So he became a sad and moody boy,
Misanthropic e'en from his infancy.
And he had been a wanderer on the earth,
Displeased, and cavilling at all he met;
Distrustful where he might have well relied;
Reserved when friendship wooed him; cold and sad
Where all around was happiness and joy.
Who had no home in all the joyous earth.
He knew not where his infancy was passed,
Nor did the image of a mother live
Amid the cherished memories of his soul.
His earliest recollections hovered round
A thin and pale though noble-looking man,
Who used to look with fond but restless eye
Upon his childish sports; and on his mind
A broken dreamy recollection dwelt,
Of a confused and agitated scene,
When that pale man lay moaning on a couch,
And said, as one supported his weak form,
“Come, kiss your dying father, Isadore.”
And he remembered, too, how he had shrunk
With childhood's sobbing terror, from the glance
Of a white-headed and hard-featured man,
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And there were none to love him, none to press
The warm fond kiss upon his little brow;
To clasp him fondly to affection's breast;
To soothe his little woes and guide his sports.
And he was lonely, for his spirit lacked
The living balsam of parental love,
Which heals the wounds that otherwise remain
To ache, and fester, and embitter life.
So he became a sad and moody boy,
Misanthropic e'en from his infancy.
And he had been a wanderer on the earth,
Displeased, and cavilling at all he met;
Distrustful where he might have well relied;
Reserved when friendship wooed him; cold and sad
Where all around was happiness and joy.
One lone bright star had beamed upon his path,
For he had loved, had worshipped;—all his heart,
Soul, and affections centered round the form
Of one fair fragile girl, whose very life
Was confidence, and happiness, and love.
But death's cold angel snatched her from his breast,
And laid her in the bosom of the earth.
And now his sighs blent sadly with the breeze,
And big bright tears were dropping one by one,
Upon the bosom of the cold salt sea,
Which feels and heeds them, just as this cold world
Feels sorrow's tear, or heeds the bitter drops
That she herself wrings from the feeling heart.
Slow pacing to and fro, with measured tread,For he had loved, had worshipped;—all his heart,
Soul, and affections centered round the form
Of one fair fragile girl, whose very life
Was confidence, and happiness, and love.
But death's cold angel snatched her from his breast,
And laid her in the bosom of the earth.
And now his sighs blent sadly with the breeze,
And big bright tears were dropping one by one,
Upon the bosom of the cold salt sea,
Which feels and heeds them, just as this cold world
Feels sorrow's tear, or heeds the bitter drops
That she herself wrings from the feeling heart.
And eye that seemed to study on the deck
Some Euclid problem, a rich merchant walked.
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Or nature's fond affections; yet he had
A sweet and peaceful home, a gentle wife,
And children, who were daily asking, “When
Will our dear father come?” And when the storm
Was howling round their dwelling, they would say:
“Dear mother, does it storm so on the sea?”
And then her woman heart would palpitate
With all the phantoms of the billowy deep.
But his heart was not with them. He has made
A prosperous voyage, and his tutored mind
Luxuriates in his gains, and he is now
Contriving speculations, that shall swell
Another hundred-fold, his mammoth wealth.
Leaning against a mast, with folded arms,
And dark eyes fixed upon the smiling moon,
Whose melting light lay cradled with the beams
Of sad and tender thought within their depths,
A pale youth stood. His treasure and his heart
Were far beyond the billows, in the home
Of that fair girl, with whom, from infancy,
He blended soul and mind. Yet three long years
Had ocean billows, with their foamy crests,
Heaved fearfully between them, and he felt,
Now that he voyaged homeward, all the pangs
Of hope, and fear, and fond mortality.
Would Laura greet him with a joyous smile,
And hide her blushing face upon his breast?
And would he find upon her trembling hand
The ring he gave at parting? Is she fair,
And innocent, and pure, as when they roved
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Untouched by pride or flattery? Does she love
As fondly now as when he kissed the tears
From her pale cheek at parting, while her form
Shook like an aspen? Or was he no more
The loved of her affections? Or had death
Proved a dire rival, and made her his bride?
Oh! for the strong wings of the gull, to fly
And end these agonizing doubts at once.
Within the cabin of that fated ship,
Beat many an anxious bosom. There was one
Who long ago forsook his native land,
To woo the goddess Fortune. He had sought,
By nights of watching, days of toil and care,
Stern self-denial, and the sacrifice
Of every generous impulse, to obtain
Her gracious golden smile; and he had won
The envy-moving treasure; he was rich!
And his heart swelled with triumph, as he dwelt
Upon the consequence, the lordly pomp,
The proud superior air he would assume
Amongst his schoolday equals. Oh, how vain!
Beside him sat his young and lovely wife,
Busied with other thoughts; for she had left
Youth's consecrated home, and fond regrets
Were shadowing forth the memories of days,
And joys, and loved ones, that would never more
Come sweetly to her spirit; she had left
Her all for one whom she had never loved,
Who wooed and won her, as the fowler takes
The wild bird in his net, and who would keep
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His splendid mansion, and to pour her tones
Of mellow sweetness only on his ear.
Near them, upon a couch, a feeble girl,
With hectic cheek and fever-flashing eye,
And soft low moan of pain and weakness, lay.
Her mother sat beside her, whose deep sobs
Came painfully upon her thrilling ear.
“Dear mother, do not weep so,” murmured forth
The dying maiden; but the mother's grief
Became more wild and deep. “Oh, Rosabel!
My child, my only one! how can I live,
And see thee sink and die? Oh, how shall I,
To whom thou hast been all in all so long,
Exist without thee? When thy gentle voice
No more shall greet me, or thy radiant smile
Shed sunlight through my heart? What shall I do,
When thou requirest my fond care no more,
Ay, when thou art no more? Oh, Rosabel,
In all my sorrows, thou hast been to me
Heaven's gift of consolation. When I knelt
Beside thy father's couch, when his thin cheek
And sunken eyes were lighted up like thine;—
Oh, 'tis the sunset glory of the west,
Sure harbinger of darkness!—then, when first
I felt the frailty of all earthly good,
And felt my young heart breaking! Oh, that scene!
Thine arms were round my neck, and thy red lips
Pressed to my forehead, while thy little heart
Poured forth its simple soothing, till at length,
As wholly heedless of thee, I wept on,
Thou laidst thy little hand upon my neck,
And sobb'dst out, ‘Mother loved poor Rosa once,
But now she will not hear her.’ Then I felt
'Twas cruelty to cloud the sunny morn
Of childhood with the shadow of my grief,
Or tinge thy rich young spirit with the gloom
Of death and mourning; and for thy sweet sake,
I struggled to support a weary life,
Assumed a calm demeanour, ay, and smiled,
Lest thy young heart should languish, till at length
My soul grew tranquil in reality.
And when that scene was past, and I became
A widow! then I wore a cheerful mien
Above a blighted heart, lest thy young soul
Should grow familiar with the tones of wo,
And feel the weight of sadness, which bends down
The feeling spirit in its early bloom!
Oh, I have loved thee solely! and I hoped
That thou wouldst solace my declining years;—
But it is over now—a few days more
It may be mine to watch the waning light
Of thy pure spirit; then the sea! the sea!—
I cannot yield thee! Oh, the ocean grave!”—
With hectic cheek and fever-flashing eye,
And soft low moan of pain and weakness, lay.
Her mother sat beside her, whose deep sobs
Came painfully upon her thrilling ear.
“Dear mother, do not weep so,” murmured forth
The dying maiden; but the mother's grief
Became more wild and deep. “Oh, Rosabel!
My child, my only one! how can I live,
And see thee sink and die? Oh, how shall I,
To whom thou hast been all in all so long,
Exist without thee? When thy gentle voice
No more shall greet me, or thy radiant smile
Shed sunlight through my heart? What shall I do,
When thou requirest my fond care no more,
Ay, when thou art no more? Oh, Rosabel,
In all my sorrows, thou hast been to me
Heaven's gift of consolation. When I knelt
Beside thy father's couch, when his thin cheek
And sunken eyes were lighted up like thine;—
Oh, 'tis the sunset glory of the west,
Sure harbinger of darkness!—then, when first
I felt the frailty of all earthly good,
And felt my young heart breaking! Oh, that scene!
Thine arms were round my neck, and thy red lips
Pressed to my forehead, while thy little heart
Poured forth its simple soothing, till at length,
As wholly heedless of thee, I wept on,
Thou laidst thy little hand upon my neck,
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But now she will not hear her.’ Then I felt
'Twas cruelty to cloud the sunny morn
Of childhood with the shadow of my grief,
Or tinge thy rich young spirit with the gloom
Of death and mourning; and for thy sweet sake,
I struggled to support a weary life,
Assumed a calm demeanour, ay, and smiled,
Lest thy young heart should languish, till at length
My soul grew tranquil in reality.
And when that scene was past, and I became
A widow! then I wore a cheerful mien
Above a blighted heart, lest thy young soul
Should grow familiar with the tones of wo,
And feel the weight of sadness, which bends down
The feeling spirit in its early bloom!
Oh, I have loved thee solely! and I hoped
That thou wouldst solace my declining years;—
But it is over now—a few days more
It may be mine to watch the waning light
Of thy pure spirit; then the sea! the sea!—
I cannot yield thee! Oh, the ocean grave!”—
“Dear mother, do not, I beseech thee, weep
So bitterly. What boots the marble tomb,
Or grave of earth? The wave will just as well
Conceal the loathsomeness of flesh's decay;
I care not where my worn-out garment lies.
Do, mother, banish these afflicting thoughts,
And look away to heaven. There's comfort there—
Rich consolation and eternal peace.
So bitterly. What boots the marble tomb,
Or grave of earth? The wave will just as well
Conceal the loathsomeness of flesh's decay;
I care not where my worn-out garment lies.
Do, mother, banish these afflicting thoughts,
And look away to heaven. There's comfort there—
Rich consolation and eternal peace.
“My soul is grateful for the love and care
Which thou hast lavished on me, and which I
Can never now return, since every day
Makes my debt greater and my means more scant.
Dear mother, be content to let me go
A little while before thee. Look to God;
He will not leave his children comfortless.”
Which thou hast lavished on me, and which I
Can never now return, since every day
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Dear mother, be content to let me go
A little while before thee. Look to God;
He will not leave his children comfortless.”
Who interrupts the sobbing parlance now?
A meagre-looking, tearful little girl
Advances, with a timid courtesy,—
“Madam,” she said, “you weep, and you can feel
For my poor mother's sorrow. Come, I pray,
And look upon her; she is very ill.”
A meagre-looking, tearful little girl
Advances, with a timid courtesy,—
“Madam,” she said, “you weep, and you can feel
For my poor mother's sorrow. Come, I pray,
And look upon her; she is very ill.”
“Go with her, mother;” whispered Rosabel,
“The Lord perchance has sent her to divert
The selfish current of our bitterness.”
“The Lord perchance has sent her to divert
The selfish current of our bitterness.”
Deep in the ship's side, in a wretched berth,
Was laid the mother of that hapless child,
Writhing and groaning with a fierce disease.
Her husband left his country for the land
Of equal rights, three weary years before;
And he had gained a comfortable home
For his dear wife and child, and they were now
Upon their voyage to rejoin him there.
His heart was yearning to embrace once more
The idol of his young and faithful love,
To clasp the sweet child, who in infancy
Sat cooing on his knee, or twined his neck
So lovingly with her soft little arms;
While Mary spread the neat but humble board.
His heart was masculine; it did not dwell,
Like woman's, on the dangers of the sea,
O'er which his loved ones journeyed. Could he now
Have stood beside that berth, how had his hopes
And glad heart-beatings died in pain away.
Was laid the mother of that hapless child,
Writhing and groaning with a fierce disease.
Her husband left his country for the land
Of equal rights, three weary years before;
And he had gained a comfortable home
For his dear wife and child, and they were now
Upon their voyage to rejoin him there.
His heart was yearning to embrace once more
The idol of his young and faithful love,
To clasp the sweet child, who in infancy
Sat cooing on his knee, or twined his neck
So lovingly with her soft little arms;
While Mary spread the neat but humble board.
His heart was masculine; it did not dwell,
Like woman's, on the dangers of the sea,
O'er which his loved ones journeyed. Could he now
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And glad heart-beatings died in pain away.
The murmuring widow gazed upon the scene;
And her heart smote her as she looked upon
Affliction so much bitterer than her own.
Beside that sufferer's bed no gentle friend
Stood, prompt to do the ministry of love;
And that poor little child, whose trembling hand
Held the cold water up to her parched lips,
Oh, how her sobs of childish agony
Convulsed the mother's heart! “Oh, Emeline!
Who will protect thee?—who will comfort thee,
And lead thee to thy father?” she exclaimed.
“I will protect thy child,” the widow said,
“And serve thee to the utmost of my power.”
“My God, I thank thee! Thou hast heard my voice,
My cares are all removed,—I die in peace!”
And her heart smote her as she looked upon
Affliction so much bitterer than her own.
Beside that sufferer's bed no gentle friend
Stood, prompt to do the ministry of love;
And that poor little child, whose trembling hand
Held the cold water up to her parched lips,
Oh, how her sobs of childish agony
Convulsed the mother's heart! “Oh, Emeline!
Who will protect thee?—who will comfort thee,
And lead thee to thy father?” she exclaimed.
“I will protect thy child,” the widow said,
“And serve thee to the utmost of my power.”
“My God, I thank thee! Thou hast heard my voice,
My cares are all removed,—I die in peace!”
In her own cabin, heedless of these scenes
Of death and sorrow, lay a simple maid,
Weeping in bitterness the night away,
Ay, supplicating heaven for death's relief.
Yet neither pain nor sickness agonized
Her youthful person, and she was possessed
Of riches, beauty, dear and gentle friends.
What then was her affliction? Why the child
Had listened to the flatteries of a man,
Whom her young heart deemed faultless, for he seemed
Disinterested, generous, noble-souled,
And so devoted—could she doubt his truth?
Then he was handsome, graceful, and genteel;
Her eye was dazzled, and her simple heart
Quite captivated; and she thought that earth
Had not another like him, or held aught
That could compensate for her loss of him.
Of death and sorrow, lay a simple maid,
Weeping in bitterness the night away,
Ay, supplicating heaven for death's relief.
Yet neither pain nor sickness agonized
Her youthful person, and she was possessed
Of riches, beauty, dear and gentle friends.
What then was her affliction? Why the child
Had listened to the flatteries of a man,
Whom her young heart deemed faultless, for he seemed
Disinterested, generous, noble-souled,
And so devoted—could she doubt his truth?
Then he was handsome, graceful, and genteel;
Her eye was dazzled, and her simple heart
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Had not another like him, or held aught
That could compensate for her loss of him.
Her father saw him in another light;
A libertine, a base, designing knave,
A fortune-hunter, a low grovelling soul,
The old man's keen and well-experienced eye
Discovered him to be. He loved his child,
And sought to save her from the bitter years
Of bootless, keen repentance and distress.
This was the sorrow that so frenzied her.
A libertine, a base, designing knave,
A fortune-hunter, a low grovelling soul,
The old man's keen and well-experienced eye
Discovered him to be. He loved his child,
And sought to save her from the bitter years
Of bootless, keen repentance and distress.
This was the sorrow that so frenzied her.
Screened by the damask curtains of her bed,
A lady, her companion, knelt in prayer.
She knew affliction; she had been abroad
With her young husband, who went forth to seek
The restoration of his shattered health.
But all her cares and watchings had been vain,
And her last hope was to conduct him home,
That he might look on his own land once more,
And sleep within its bosom. But the Lord
Had otherwise determined. She had watched
All the long lonely night beside his couch,
Still prompt to minister and soothe his pain,
And she had closed the eyes from which her soul
Had drank the purest, sweetest happiness
Of earth's affection; and she then composed,
For the last time, those black and glossy curls,
Which she so loved to comb and to arrange
Upon his noble brow. And she had seen
That form, so beautiful, so much beloved,
Sink down to the low caverns of the deep,
For ever, from her sight. Oh, that was grief;
And she wept wildly, for she did not boast
That fortitude which some admire so much,
But which exists with apathy alone.
Feeling will gush; no high, no proud resolve
Can choke the utterance of the gushing heart.
And Emma wept, but she forgot not God.
She wept with resignation, and poured out
The humble breathing of a broken heart;
And He who shook her idol from its throne,
Gave her the presence of a God instead,
And she bowed down and worshipped.
Other soundsA lady, her companion, knelt in prayer.
She knew affliction; she had been abroad
With her young husband, who went forth to seek
The restoration of his shattered health.
But all her cares and watchings had been vain,
And her last hope was to conduct him home,
That he might look on his own land once more,
And sleep within its bosom. But the Lord
Had otherwise determined. She had watched
All the long lonely night beside his couch,
Still prompt to minister and soothe his pain,
And she had closed the eyes from which her soul
Had drank the purest, sweetest happiness
Of earth's affection; and she then composed,
For the last time, those black and glossy curls,
Which she so loved to comb and to arrange
Upon his noble brow. And she had seen
That form, so beautiful, so much beloved,
Sink down to the low caverns of the deep,
For ever, from her sight. Oh, that was grief;
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That fortitude which some admire so much,
But which exists with apathy alone.
Feeling will gush; no high, no proud resolve
Can choke the utterance of the gushing heart.
And Emma wept, but she forgot not God.
She wept with resignation, and poured out
The humble breathing of a broken heart;
And He who shook her idol from its throne,
Gave her the presence of a God instead,
And she bowed down and worshipped.
Than voice of grief, or prayer, or dying pain,
Rose on the night air from that gallant bark.
Forth from the cabin swelled the patriot song,
With loud and stirring chorus, as the bowl,
Which makes the dastard brave, went freely round.
Card-tables there, and dice, and chess, were spread;
And sleight-of-hand and secret villany
Defrauded the poor dupes who vainly thought
That hoodwinked fortune had presided there;
And oaths and imprecations fierce and loud
Burst from hot lips, which, ever and anon,
Were bathed in flashing wine, and cursed alike
Success or disappointment.
Oh, great God!
That fearful shock; that wild and shrieking cry
That sprang at once toward heaven from all on board,
As the broad bottom of that plated hull
Struck on the lurking reef! Another shock!
“We are all lost!” exclaimed a shrieking voice,
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And one wild swell of horror and despair
Swept o'er each pausing heart, and washed away
All sense of other wo.
Ha! where had fled
The deep and varied passions, that but now
Held strong dominion in those awe-struck breasts?
Death!—Death is present! What availeth now
The home that waits the wanderer, with its smiles,
And warm embrace of love? What boots it now
To the warped heart of the misanthrope,
That life is not all sunlight? Gloriously
Breaks forth its parting beam. Oh, earth is fair!
And life is sweet, now that Eternity
Comes booming on the waves—sweeping away
All but the bare reality of things.
Who now is brooding over luckless love?
Who reckons up, and glories in his gains?
Who thinks of pale consumption and disease?
Who dwells with sad regretful memories
Of loved ones, who have passed the cold dark porch
Of the eternal city, at whose gates
They all stand shuddering? Where is now the flush
Of the wine fever? Where the vivid glow
Of proud success? Where has the dark hue fled
Which gushes from the baffled writhing heart
Up to the gambler's brow?
Each cheek is pale,
And every spirit passionless and faint
With cold death-sickness.
Through the shattered hull
The wild relentless waters rushed and roared,
As the fierce armies of the olden time
Rushed shouting through the breaches in the wall
Of some proud kingly city.
To the boats!
All life's fond hopes are with them! and Despair
To that frail refuge turned her piercing eyes—
But they were filled, and paddled from the wreck,
And lay—aghast with terror, as it were—
Watching the fearful issue. Even those
Who proved victorious in the fearful strife
To reach the boats—even they, with wide still eyes
Looked back upon the death whose certainty
They hardly had eluded. While their loved
And loving ones shrieked, with extended arms,
To them for succour—while it seemed that heaven
Could not now save them. Every buoyant thing
From off those decks now rides upon the wave,
Each freighted with a life; and God alone
Can see the sharp and varied agonies
Of those half-frantic souls, that cling to life,
Even on the icy bosom of Despair—
Or those that still remain upon the wreck.
Who reckons up, and glories in his gains?
Who thinks of pale consumption and disease?
Who dwells with sad regretful memories
Of loved ones, who have passed the cold dark porch
Of the eternal city, at whose gates
They all stand shuddering? Where is now the flush
Of the wine fever? Where the vivid glow
Of proud success? Where has the dark hue fled
Which gushes from the baffled writhing heart
Up to the gambler's brow?
Each cheek is pale,
And every spirit passionless and faint
With cold death-sickness.
Through the shattered hull
The wild relentless waters rushed and roared,
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Rushed shouting through the breaches in the wall
Of some proud kingly city.
To the boats!
All life's fond hopes are with them! and Despair
To that frail refuge turned her piercing eyes—
But they were filled, and paddled from the wreck,
And lay—aghast with terror, as it were—
Watching the fearful issue. Even those
Who proved victorious in the fearful strife
To reach the boats—even they, with wide still eyes
Looked back upon the death whose certainty
They hardly had eluded. While their loved
And loving ones shrieked, with extended arms,
To them for succour—while it seemed that heaven
Could not now save them. Every buoyant thing
From off those decks now rides upon the wave,
Each freighted with a life; and God alone
Can see the sharp and varied agonies
Of those half-frantic souls, that cling to life,
Even on the icy bosom of Despair—
Or those that still remain upon the wreck.
Yet even here, amid these fearful scenes,
Peace lay beneath the brooding wing of death.
Ay, even here was peace, the peace of God,
Which nature seeks in vain to comprehend;
It passes understanding, and pervades
The humble souls which glow with love divine.
Peace lay beneath the brooding wing of death.
Ay, even here was peace, the peace of God,
Which nature seeks in vain to comprehend;
It passes understanding, and pervades
The humble souls which glow with love divine.
Yes, in that vessel were some humble souls,
To whom death came in angel loveliness,—
A messenger of mercy. Staid and calm
Their hearts were beating, and their eyes were raised,
With holy hope and confidence, toward heaven.
“Thy will be done,” they murmured,—while a yell
Of deep fierce agony swelled madly up,
As closed the waters o'er that peopled ship,
And down! down! down! it sunk, to the dark bed
Of the hoarse moaning waves.
The scene is closed.—To whom death came in angel loveliness,—
A messenger of mercy. Staid and calm
Their hearts were beating, and their eyes were raised,
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“Thy will be done,” they murmured,—while a yell
Of deep fierce agony swelled madly up,
As closed the waters o'er that peopled ship,
And down! down! down! it sunk, to the dark bed
Of the hoarse moaning waves.
The winds, and sea, and sky, are still and bright,
And nature looks all glorious, as the morn
Comes gladly forth, as if no heart was cold,
No spirit broken, no bright eye sealed up
In ever-during darkness,—none consigned
To wet and weary watching for the form
It never more will rest on. These shall mourn
As if nor light nor joy remained on earth;
Yet nature, with her melody and bloom,
Shall hold her course rejoicing, no more moved
That his proud ship is lost, than if a swarm
Of painted insects had been swept away
By chilly night-winds.
Even the mourners' hearts—
Ay, these will cease to throb. Oh, earth! Oh, life!
Who could endure your ills, your bitter pangs,
Your heartless apathy and fickleness,
With the eternal shipwreck of your hopes,
But for the steady light of Faith, which beams
Upon the Holy Page, reflecting thence
Hope, peace, and consolation, which no gloom
Amongst the shadows of this opaque earth
Can ever quench! Oh! not the cloud that lies
O'er death's lone valley, or the fearful shade
That wraps the impenetrable eve of Time,
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Can cloud the beam of Faith. Oh! gloriously
'Twill light the spirit, in the dreadful wreck
Of this stupendous ship—the peopled earth.
| The forest minstrel | |