 | A collection of poems on various subjects |  |
48
THE SMUGGLER.
What think ye now, ye sons of ease?
The Smuggler's life is rough and rude?—
'Mid bawling winds and roaring seas,
He lives a man of cheerless mood?—
The Smuggler's life is rough and rude?—
'Mid bawling winds and roaring seas,
He lives a man of cheerless mood?—
Ye little guess, how many a smile
To fortune's rugged frown we owe;
Ye little guess, the son of toil
Has softer ease than you can know.
To fortune's rugged frown we owe;
Ye little guess, the son of toil
Has softer ease than you can know.
The chine, that's deep and sheltering,
Thick set with furze and brier and tree,
Contains the Smuggler's hut, a thing
Of rude and molly masonry.
Thick set with furze and brier and tree,
Contains the Smuggler's hut, a thing
Of rude and molly masonry.
49
The wall, of rock and flint and stone,
With tuft of heath and moss between;
The door, a scant and crazy one,
Of old a stranded wreck has been.
With tuft of heath and moss between;
The door, a scant and crazy one,
Of old a stranded wreck has been.
The casement is of many a pane,
Shatter'd and odd; the frame of clay;
'Tis pervious to the wind and rain,
And ev'ry thing—except the day.
Shatter'd and odd; the frame of clay;
'Tis pervious to the wind and rain,
And ev'ry thing—except the day.
This is the Smuggler's hut: His skiff
Rides in the little creek, before;
A weather-beaten sailor—stiff,
As ever heard the tempest roar!
Rides in the little creek, before;
A weather-beaten sailor—stiff,
As ever heard the tempest roar!
But something maim'd, as here and there,
Her splic'd and splinter'd timbers shew;
And the old sail, that does n't care,
With all its patches, how 't will blow.
Her splic'd and splinter'd timbers shew;
And the old sail, that does n't care,
With all its patches, how 't will blow.
50
“Now bless thee, girl! the wind is fair,
“And fresh, and may not long be so;
“We've little time you know to spare,
“So gi'us a buss, and let us go—”
“And fresh, and may not long be so;
“We've little time you know to spare,
“So gi'us a buss, and let us go—”
The Smuggler cries: A wight is he
Fit for his trade. So rough and rude,
He looks like something of the sea,
He is not of the landsman's brood.
Fit for his trade. So rough and rude,
He looks like something of the sea,
He is not of the landsman's brood.
His stature's big—his hazle eye
Glistens beneath his bushy hair;
His face is of a sunny dye,
His hands; his bosom that is bare.
Glistens beneath his bushy hair;
His face is of a sunny dye,
His hands; his bosom that is bare.
His voice is hoarse, and sounding too,
He has been wont to talk with winds
And thunders, and the boist'rous crew
Of waves, whose moods he little minds.
He has been wont to talk with winds
And thunders, and the boist'rous crew
Of waves, whose moods he little minds.
51
His little, hardy infant-son
Doth spraddle on his lusty neck:
His wife, a fair and tender one,
Doth weep and murmur on his cheek.
Doth spraddle on his lusty neck:
His wife, a fair and tender one,
Doth weep and murmur on his cheek.
He must not stay: the pledges dear
He hurries from him, with a sigh:
His rugged soul disdains a tear—
Not but he has one in his eye.
He hurries from him, with a sigh:
His rugged soul disdains a tear—
Not but he has one in his eye.
The sail is set. She clears the shore,
She feels the wind and scuds away;
Heels on her little keel, and o'er
The jostling waves doth seem to play.
She feels the wind and scuds away;
Heels on her little keel, and o'er
The jostling waves doth seem to play.
This is the Smuggler's little crew:
The mate, his tall and strapping son;—
Another active youth, or two,
Besides an old and childless man,
The mate, his tall and strapping son;—
Another active youth, or two,
Besides an old and childless man,
52
Who many a storm and wreck had seen;
His head as hoary as the foam
Of the vex'd wave. Once he had been
Another man—had now no home,
His head as hoary as the foam
Of the vex'd wave. Once he had been
Another man—had now no home,
Save what the ocean and the winds
Made for him—'twas a restless one:
And they were harsh and wayward friends,—
But ev'ry other friend was gone!
Made for him—'twas a restless one:
And they were harsh and wayward friends,—
But ev'ry other friend was gone!
And now the cliff is seen no more;
Around is nought, but sea and sky;
And now the Smuggler ponders o'er
His hopes and fears alternately.
Around is nought, but sea and sky;
And now the Smuggler ponders o'er
His hopes and fears alternately.
O hope! thou little airy form,
Thou thing of nothing! subtlest thing
That deals in potent spell and charm,
Queen of the little fairy ring!
Thou thing of nothing! subtlest thing
That deals in potent spell and charm,
Queen of the little fairy ring!
53
That dances up and down the beam
O'th' midnight moon, and likes to play
Such antics, by the witching gleam,
As scare, or 'rap the sons of day.
O'th' midnight moon, and likes to play
Such antics, by the witching gleam,
As scare, or 'rap the sons of day.
Where is that precious gem of earth,
That costly jewel of the sea,
That human work of nameless worth,
That meets thy magic imag'ry?
That costly jewel of the sea,
That human work of nameless worth,
That meets thy magic imag'ry?
When was the smile of human bliss
So fair as fiction'd forth by thee?
Thy phantom gives a sweeter kiss
Than e'en the lover's fairest she!
So fair as fiction'd forth by thee?
Thy phantom gives a sweeter kiss
Than e'en the lover's fairest she!
Illusion blest! How many a son
Of rude and wayward destiny,
Whom fortune never smil'd upon,
Has yet been taught to smile by thee!
Of rude and wayward destiny,
Whom fortune never smil'd upon,
Has yet been taught to smile by thee!
54
Now, with thy little golden wand,
Perch'd on the Smuggler's helm, the wild
And savage sea thou would'st command,
And make it merciful and mild.
Perch'd on the Smuggler's helm, the wild
And savage sea thou would'st command,
And make it merciful and mild.
But 'tis a bleak and squally sky,
A restless, rough and raging sea;
Whose saucy waves thy pow'r defy,
And make their moody mock of thee.
A restless, rough and raging sea;
Whose saucy waves thy pow'r defy,
And make their moody mock of thee.
But little mov'd, thou keep'st thy place
Beside the stern and hardy wight,
Who looks thee cheerly in the face,
And nothing apprehends thy flight.
Beside the stern and hardy wight,
Who looks thee cheerly in the face,
And nothing apprehends thy flight.
And thro' the realms of waves and winds,
Regardless of their threat'ning roar;
Thou smiling guid'st, until he finds
The port, and treads the sunny shore.
Regardless of their threat'ning roar;
Thou smiling guid'st, until he finds
The port, and treads the sunny shore.
55
The traffic's made—the treasure stow'd—
The wind is fair—the sail is spread;
And, lab'ring with her secret load,
Scarce heaves the little skiff her head.
The wind is fair—the sail is spread;
And, lab'ring with her secret load,
Scarce heaves the little skiff her head.
Now is the Smuggler's time of care:
A weary watch he keeps; nor night,
Nor day he rests; nor those who share
The fortunes of the vent'rous wight.
A weary watch he keeps; nor night,
Nor day he rests; nor those who share
The fortunes of the vent'rous wight.
A veering course they steer, to shun
The armed sail, and aim to reach
The nearest friendly shore, and run
For some safe creek, or shelt'ring beach.
The armed sail, and aim to reach
The nearest friendly shore, and run
For some safe creek, or shelt'ring beach.
Which soon at night they near, and then
Laugh at their fears and perils o'er—
When, lo! the wary beacon's seen
To blaze—An enemy's a-shore!
Laugh at their fears and perils o'er—
When, lo! the wary beacon's seen
To blaze—An enemy's a-shore!
56
Down goes the helm!—about the sheet!—
The little bark obeys, and now,
To clear the fatal land, does beat
The heavy surge with lab'ring prow.
The little bark obeys, and now,
To clear the fatal land, does beat
The heavy surge with lab'ring prow.
She weathers it; but soon a sail,
By the faint star-light gleam, they find
Has left the shore: as they can tell,
It is about a league behind,
By the faint star-light gleam, they find
Has left the shore: as they can tell,
It is about a league behind,
In chace of them: along the shore—
The Smuggler knows it well—there lies
A little creek, three leagues, or more,
And thither he will take his prize.
The Smuggler knows it well—there lies
A little creek, three leagues, or more,
And thither he will take his prize.
There will his little vessel ride,
Screen'd from the wind and from her foes;
And in the rugged cliff, beside,
An ancient cavern he knows,
Screen'd from the wind and from her foes;
And in the rugged cliff, beside,
An ancient cavern he knows,
57
With bramble and with brier o'ergrown:
One day a-berry-hunting there,
'Twas when a boy—long time agone—
He found it out—a wonder rare!
One day a-berry-hunting there,
'Twas when a boy—long time agone—
He found it out—a wonder rare!
With many a nook and avenue,
Cut thro' the hard and flinty soil;
A chamber square, a table, too,
Of earth:—it was a work of toil!
Cut thro' the hard and flinty soil;
A chamber square, a table, too,
Of earth:—it was a work of toil!
Made by some man of ancient days,
Who, Heav'n can tell; but such a one
(I give it as the Smuggler says,)
Could ne'er have been a mortal man!
Who, Heav'n can tell; but such a one
(I give it as the Smuggler says,)
Could ne'er have been a mortal man!
'Twas known to very few, and they
The Smuggler's own. And now they spread
Each inch of sail; and bear away,
And keep her, all they can, ahead.
The Smuggler's own. And now they spread
Each inch of sail; and bear away,
And keep her, all they can, ahead.
58
Well sails the little skiff; but vain
Their efforts: ev'ry knot they run,
The stranger draws on them amain—
She nears them more than half a one.
Their efforts: ev'ry knot they run,
The stranger draws on them amain—
She nears them more than half a one.
Nor dare they try the nook, I fear;
Now scarce a mile ahead; the foe,
Within three cables' length of her,
Will dog the skiff where'er she'll go.
Now scarce a mile ahead; the foe,
Within three cables' length of her,
Will dog the skiff where'er she'll go.
The Smuggler thinks 'tis over now:
Thrice has he left the rudder, and
The fruitless dew from 's sullen brow
Has dash'd with his indignant hand!
Thrice has he left the rudder, and
The fruitless dew from 's sullen brow
Has dash'd with his indignant hand!
When lo!—and think you not, there was
A bright and gentle spirit there,
That hover'd o'er the Smuggler as
He gave his rudder to despair?—
A bright and gentle spirit there,
That hover'd o'er the Smuggler as
He gave his rudder to despair?—
59
Just as a heavy tear begins
Upon the Smuggler's cheek to roll,
Warm from that holiest of shrines,
The husband and the father's soul,
Upon the Smuggler's cheek to roll,
Warm from that holiest of shrines,
The husband and the father's soul,
The cutter springs her mast, and lies
A useless log upon the seas;
While the staunch skiff her wrath defies,
And likes the fair and fresh'ning breeze.
A useless log upon the seas;
While the staunch skiff her wrath defies,
And likes the fair and fresh'ning breeze.
But look! what comes there now behind?
The wrath-fraught waves swell high and proud
It 'gins to grow a squally wind,
With many a little ragged cloud,
The wrath-fraught waves swell high and proud
It 'gins to grow a squally wind,
With many a little ragged cloud,
Fleeting before the muffl'd storm,
Wrapp'd in a hundred clouds, that frown
As dark as death, with giant form,
Threat'ning, as 'twere, to tumble down
Wrapp'd in a hundred clouds, that frown
As dark as death, with giant form,
Threat'ning, as 'twere, to tumble down
60
With thunder, and with deluge. Now
They come! It blows a hurricane!
Great is the roar, above—below:—
The lightning 's thick as the big rain
They come! It blows a hurricane!
Great is the roar, above—below:—
The lightning 's thick as the big rain
That beats and batters the huge wave,
Rolling in wrath along: what now
The Smuggler's little bark can save?
If Heav'n ordains—I think I know.
Rolling in wrath along: what now
The Smuggler's little bark can save?
If Heav'n ordains—I think I know.
Her mainsail and her gib are down,
Under her foresail, reeff'd, she flies
Thro' the black fiery storm, whose frown
Of death the Smuggler still defies;
Under her foresail, reeff'd, she flies
Thro' the black fiery storm, whose frown
Of death the Smuggler still defies;
With dauntless arm the rudder rules,
Erect his brow and bold his mien;
And, as it scowls at him, he scowls
And looks it in the face again.
Erect his brow and bold his mien;
And, as it scowls at him, he scowls
And looks it in the face again.
61
All night it holds it on; but now,
As night declines, it dies away;
And leaves the blessed east to shew
The rosy lids of dawning day,
As night declines, it dies away;
And leaves the blessed east to shew
The rosy lids of dawning day,
Opening its glitt'ring eye; and O,
How radiantly it shines!—It shines
Upon the Smuggler's cliff—'Tis so—
Yet how 'tis so? he scarce divines—
How radiantly it shines!—It shines
Upon the Smuggler's cliff—'Tis so—
Yet how 'tis so? he scarce divines—
At what a thund'ring rate she came!
'Tis more than thirty leagues from where
The lubber, lubber-like, fell lame,
And miss'd his hungry gripe of her.
'Tis more than thirty leagues from where
The lubber, lubber-like, fell lame,
And miss'd his hungry gripe of her.
But look! who stands upon the beach,
And waves a welcome with her hand?
What little cherub tries to reach
Its father from the nearing land?
And waves a welcome with her hand?
What little cherub tries to reach
Its father from the nearing land?
62
O treasures dear! She gains the creek,
Rolling the curling waves before;
And drives her little eager beak
Deep in the smooth and sandy shore.
Rolling the curling waves before;
And drives her little eager beak
Deep in the smooth and sandy shore.
Tell me what gaudy dome of state—
The haunt of luxury and show—
Contains so blithe a joy as that
The Smuggler's hut doth shelter now?
The haunt of luxury and show—
Contains so blithe a joy as that
The Smuggler's hut doth shelter now?
O! how he glows again to tell
What perils he has past—what store
Of merchandise he has—how well
The skiff her share of duty bore!
What perils he has past—what store
Of merchandise he has—how well
The skiff her share of duty bore!
Now tell me not, but in my mind—
Whate'er the smooth and sophist tongue
Of luxury may sing—you'll find
Your sweetest joys from pain are sprung.
Whate'er the smooth and sophist tongue
Of luxury may sing—you'll find
Your sweetest joys from pain are sprung.
| A collection of poems on various subjects | |