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154
THE MARINER'S TALE.
ARGUMENT.
Almost every circumstance of the following Poem is taken from a narrative, in the eighth volume of the Naval Chronicle, of the escape of the late Captain Boyce from the Luxborough, in the year 1727. Even the introductory stanzas are founded on fact: the seventh of July, the æra of his extraordinary preservation, was always held sacred by this venerable officer, and spent in darkness, in fasting, and in prayer.
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“Sweet is the breath of fair July,
And bright the Sun's warm ray;
Yet thou in darkness shroudest thee,
To fast, and weep, and pray!”
And bright the Sun's warm ray;
Yet thou in darkness shroudest thee,
To fast, and weep, and pray!”
“'Tis not for sin, nor foul misdeed,
I bend in penance low:
Come listen to an old man's tale,
And thou the cause shalt know.
I bend in penance low:
Come listen to an old man's tale,
And thou the cause shalt know.
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How lovely was the summer sea,
Lit by the setting beam,
Whose gay light, level with the wave,
Came dancing o'er the stream!
Lit by the setting beam,
Whose gay light, level with the wave,
Came dancing o'er the stream!
And gentle as that sparkling ray,
The breeze of Evening blew;
And calm was Ocean's clear expanse,
And pure the Sky's bright blue.
The breeze of Evening blew;
And calm was Ocean's clear expanse,
And pure the Sky's bright blue.
It was no Ship of War that sail'd
Upon the tranquil Main:
And light was every jocund breast;
And blythe the sailor's strain.
Upon the tranquil Main:
And light was every jocund breast;
And blythe the sailor's strain.
At midnight, still in calm repose
Air, Sky, and Ocean lay;—
What is that light that flames on high,
And blazes o'er the spray?
Air, Sky, and Ocean lay;—
What is that light that flames on high,
And blazes o'er the spray?
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What are those shrieks that rend the heart,
As still the flame glares higher?
What are they?—Oh I hear them still!
Our gallant Bark's on fire!
As still the flame glares higher?
What are they?—Oh I hear them still!
Our gallant Bark's on fire!
Yes, I was there! with breathless haste,
We hoisted out the boat;
One boy, and two and twenty men,
Upon the billows float.
We hoisted out the boat;
One boy, and two and twenty men,
Upon the billows float.
Sixteen remain'd;—'twould have been death
To all, to venture more;
But dreadful the refusal seem'd!
We madly plied the oar:
To all, to venture more;
But dreadful the refusal seem'd!
We madly plied the oar:
For life we row'd,—and yet I turn'd,
That dreadful sight to see:
A comely youth,—I lov'd him well!
Climb'd up the mizen-tree:
That dreadful sight to see:
A comely youth,—I lov'd him well!
Climb'd up the mizen-tree:
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The flames play'd round his youthful form,
And wrapt him in their glory;
His bright hair blaz'd like angel beams,—
I cannot tell the story.—
And wrapt him in their glory;
His bright hair blaz'd like angel beams,—
I cannot tell the story.—
The crash, the dreadful crash! we heard,
And all was swept away:
Th' updriven mast, their funeral torch!
Their grave, the Ocean spray.
And all was swept away:
Th' updriven mast, their funeral torch!
Their grave, the Ocean spray.
Our lives were sav'd, but life alone;
Compass nor sail had we;
Nor food nor drink;—nor knew we where
To seek our destiny.
Compass nor sail had we;
Nor food nor drink;—nor knew we where
To seek our destiny.
Toss'd by the gale, we drifted long,
From coast and island far;
Our only guide, the sun by day,
By night the polar star;
From coast and island far;
Our only guide, the sun by day,
By night the polar star;
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Till rose a fog so thick, no star
Could pierce the dreary night;
So dense the air, we scarcely saw
The summer sun's gay light.
Could pierce the dreary night;
So dense the air, we scarcely saw
The summer sun's gay light.
Still through that fog, we seem'd to see
A vessel gliding by;
But as we labor'd at the oar,
The vessel seem'd to fly.
A vessel gliding by;
But as we labor'd at the oar,
The vessel seem'd to fly.
And often in that cheerless night,
When sank the hollow gale,
We seem'd to hear the watchman's song,
And the quick-flapping sail.
When sank the hollow gale,
We seem'd to hear the watchman's song,
And the quick-flapping sail.
We curs'd them for their cruelty,
With many a bitter word:
Oh 'twas the treacherous mist we saw!
The moaning wind we heard!
With many a bitter word:
Oh 'twas the treacherous mist we saw!
The moaning wind we heard!
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Days in that dreadful stillness past!
Scarce breath'd the fickle air!
The quivering wave that sway'd the boat,
Seem'd rock'd by our despair.
Scarce breath'd the fickle air!
The quivering wave that sway'd the boat,
Seem'd rock'd by our despair.
There were we fix'd; may sailor ne'er
Such misery feel again!
With hunger torn, and parch'd with thirst,
In vain we pray'd for rain.
Such misery feel again!
With hunger torn, and parch'd with thirst,
In vain we pray'd for rain.
We wrung the moisture from our clothes;
Oh more the woodlark sips
From acorn-cup, and yet it fell
Like balm upon our lips.
Oh more the woodlark sips
From acorn-cup, and yet it fell
Like balm upon our lips.
Short was that comfort; it was past,
And death and madness near:
'Twas dreadful then our comrades' groans,
And piercing shrieks to hear!
And death and madness near:
'Twas dreadful then our comrades' groans,
And piercing shrieks to hear!
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The little Negro boy was dead;
Three Sailors dying lay;
For water, water, still they call'd!
They died at dawn of day.
Three Sailors dying lay;
For water, water, still they call'd!
They died at dawn of day.
That morn, (though nature prompted it,
Yet nature loath'd the food)
By human flesh our pangs were stay'd;
Our thirst by human blood.—
Yet nature loath'd the food)
By human flesh our pangs were stay'd;
Our thirst by human blood.—
How horrible it was to taste!—
Our blood chill'd in our veins;—
We had no hope—but yet with life
The wish to live remains.
Our blood chill'd in our veins;—
We had no hope—but yet with life
The wish to live remains.
Still every morn was mark'd with death;
Still madness rul'd the night;
Till a fresh breeze the fog dispers'd,
And woke to life and light.
Still madness rul'd the night;
Till a fresh breeze the fog dispers'd,
And woke to life and light.
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'Twas then—O blessed sight!—we saw
The land before us lying;
The real land!—no vision'd shore
In fancy's sick dream flying.
The land before us lying;
The real land!—no vision'd shore
In fancy's sick dream flying.
But seven men remain'd; and each
Gaz'd fix'dly on the other,
As if to ask—Look I as wan,
As ghastly, as my brother?
Gaz'd fix'dly on the other,
As if to ask—Look I as wan,
As ghastly, as my brother?
Hope lent us strength, with quivering limb,
To ply the laboring oar;—
Hope did I say! God succour'd us!—
We safely gain'd the shore.
To ply the laboring oar;—
Hope did I say! God succour'd us!—
We safely gain'd the shore.
For this great mercy, still to Him,
On that revolving day,
The fullness of my Soul I pour,
And weep, and fast, and pray.
On that revolving day,
The fullness of my Soul I pour,
And weep, and fast, and pray.
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