Original, serious, and religious poetry by the Rev. Richard Cobbold |
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A TRUE NARRATION. |
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 | Original, serious, and religious poetry |  |
175
A TRUE NARRATION.
Alicia arrived on the Indian shore,
Behold her lov'd husband, and loving once more,
With her babe in her arms to tranquility hush'd,
To the heart of her fond one in tumult she rush'd.
His form she beheld, and all others were nought,
In a rapture of transport his bosom she sought.
His eye was upon her, his heart it was her's,
The journey was over and pass'd were her fears.
The vessel it slowly was tow'd to the quay,
'Twas her husband, her lover, her life, it was he.
Behold her lov'd husband, and loving once more,
With her babe in her arms to tranquility hush'd,
To the heart of her fond one in tumult she rush'd.
His form she beheld, and all others were nought,
In a rapture of transport his bosom she sought.
His eye was upon her, his heart it was her's,
The journey was over and pass'd were her fears.
The vessel it slowly was tow'd to the quay,
'Twas her husband, her lover, her life, it was he.
Too slowly they mov'd; O for antelope's leap,
For the wing of the flying fish, over the deep.
For the bound of a ball, or a spring on her feet,
To cast her on shore for a husband to greet.
The wave of the hand and the clasp of delight,
The agonized pleasure of rapturous sight;
The dear one long parted, to see him again,
To know him, to hear him; the hope was in vain.
The board was extended from vessel to shore,
She fell with her babe, and was heard of no more.
For the wing of the flying fish, over the deep.
176
To cast her on shore for a husband to greet.
The wave of the hand and the clasp of delight,
The agonized pleasure of rapturous sight;
The dear one long parted, to see him again,
To know him, to hear him; the hope was in vain.
The board was extended from vessel to shore,
She fell with her babe, and was heard of no more.
By accident, hastily tripping in joy,
With the burthen of love; 'twas a sweet little boy,
She fell to the ocean, and sinking below,
She rose not to lessen severity's blow.
The husband beheld but a day or two's grief,
And the portion of death, was the spirit's relief.
O weep little orphans, in England you hear
The fate of your parents. In sorrow the tear
Of the poet's compassion, falls feelingly down,
And your lot is a hard one he cannot but own.
With the burthen of love; 'twas a sweet little boy,
She fell to the ocean, and sinking below,
She rose not to lessen severity's blow.
The husband beheld but a day or two's grief,
And the portion of death, was the spirit's relief.
O weep little orphans, in England you hear
The fate of your parents. In sorrow the tear
Of the poet's compassion, falls feelingly down,
And your lot is a hard one he cannot but own.
| Original, serious, and religious poetry | |