XVI. BRYAN AND PEREENE,
A West-Indian Ballad,
[_]
—is founded on a real fact, that happened in the island
of St. Christophers about two years ago. The editor owes the
following stanzas to the friendship of Dr. James Grainger
,
who was in the island when this tragical incident
happened, and is now (in 1765) an eminent physician there.
To this ingenious gentleman the public is indebted for the fine
Ode on Solitude printed in the IVth Vol. of Dodsley's
Miscel. p. 229. in which are assembled some of the sublimest
imagesin nature. The reader will pardon the insertion of
the first stanza here, for the sake of rectifying the two last lines, which were thus given by the Author.
O Solitude, romantic maid,
Whether by nodding towers you tread,
Or haunt the desert's trackless gloom,
Or hover o'er the yawning tomb,
Or climb the Andes' clifted side,
Or by the Nile's coy source abide,
Or starting from your half-year's sleep,
From Hecla view the thawing deep,
Or at the purple dawn of day
Tadmor's marble wastes survey, &c.
alluding to the account of Palmyra published by some late ingenious
travellers, and the manner in which they were struck
at the first sight of those magnificent ruins by break of day
.
The north-east wind did briskly blow,
The ship was safely moor'd,
Young Bryan thought the boat's-crew slow,
And so leapt over-board.
Pereene, the pride of Indian dames,
His heart long held in thrall,
And whoso his impatience blames,
I wot, ne'er lov'd at all.
A long long year, one month and day,
He dwelt on English land,
Nor once in thought or deed would stray,
Tho' ladies sought his hand.
For Bryan he was tall and strong,
Right blythsome roll'd his een,
Sweet was his voice whene'er he sung,
He scant had twenty seen.
But who the countless charms can draw,
That grac'd his mistress true;
Such charms the old world seldom saw,
Nor oft I ween the new.
Her raven hair plays round her neck,
Like tendrils of the vine;
Her cheeks red dewy rose buds deck,
Her eyes like diamonds shine.
Soon as his well-known ship she spied,
She cast her weeds away,
And to the palmy shore she hied,
All in her best array.
In sea-green silk so neatly clad,
She there impatient stood;
The crew with wonder saw the lad
Repell the foaming flood.
Her hands a handkerchief display'd,
Which he at parting gave;
Well pleas'd the token he survey'd,
And manlier beat the wave.
Her fair companions one and all,
Rejoicing crowd the strand;
For now her lover swam in call,
And almost touch'd the land.
Then through the white surf did she haste,
To clasp her lovely swain;
When, ah! a shark bit through his waste:
His heart's blood dy'd the main!
He shriek'd! his half sprang from the wave,
Streaming with purple gore,
And soon it found a living grave,
And ah! was seen no more.
Now haste, now haste, ye maids, I pray,
Fetch water from the spring:
She falls, she swoons, she dies away,
And soon her knell they ring.
Now each May morning round her tomb
Ye fair, fresh flowerets strew,
So may your lovers scape his doom,
Her hapless fate scape you.
