Poems :: :: University of Virginia Library

NANINE, OR, THE EMIGRANT.

On the waves the winds were sleeping,
Swift my boat approached the land:
There I found a Maiden weeping;
Who can female tears withstand?
Ceased at once my joyous ditty,
Gently moved my silent oar,
While I said in sounds of pity,
—“Pry'thee, Sweet-heart, weep no more!”—

Then on land I sprang so lightly,
While with mingled hopes and fears
Raised the Maid her head, and brightly
Beamed her blue eyes through her tears.
—“Left exposed to want and danger,
Friendless on a foreign shore,
Ah!” She said, “you vainly, Stranger,
Kindly tell me “weep no more!”

“Far from home an exile roving,
Where shall now my shelter be?
Lost each friend so loved, so loving,
Now what heart shall feel for me?
Poor Nanine, thy brain is turning,
Poor Nanine, thy heart is sore;
Poor Nanine, thy tears are burning,
Die, Nanine, and weep no more!”—

—“Damsel, mark yon distant city;
There my shelter thine shall be:
Mark my bosom heaved by pity;
There's a heart that feels for thee!
All my wealth I here surrender,
'Tis not gems, nor shining ore:
'Tis a heart warm, honest, tender....
Take it, Sweet, and weep no more.”—

Tow'rds my boat I gently led her;
Soon it touched my native strand:
There my labour cloathed and fed her,
There I gained her heart and hand.
Still with love my eyes behold her;
Yes, though many a year is o'er,
Still I bless the hour I told her,
—“Pry'thee, Sweet-heart, weep no more.”—

See, she waits me near yon willows!
Swift, my boat, to reach her fly.—
See, her breast my baby pillows,
Transport for a father's eye!
Grant, oh! God, such transports may not
E'er bless those, who seeing pour
Tears from female eye-lids, say not,
—“Pry'thee, Sweet-heart, weep no more!”—