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 | Adrastus, A Tragedy; Amabel, or The Cornish Lovers: And Other Poems |  |
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AMABEL; OR THE CORNISH LOVER:
A TALE FOUNDED ON FACT.
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[_]
The following Poem is founded on a fact which happened about the time of Rodney's victory over De Grasse.... The young Woman who is the subject of it was the daughter of an old Seaman who had become a fisherman near Falmouth. Her Lover was a youth brought up as a stone-cutter and mason in the town.... The chief harbour in the island of St. Vincent was the place where the event occurred, which the Author witnessed, with the previous sports, as described in the Poem.
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Canto I.
“Adieu! adieu! dear Amabel!
See, how the curving sails all swell:
The anchor 's up—she 's under weigh—
Smile on your sailor-boy to-day.
The pang it is to say Farewell
Is soothed by hope, sweet Amabel!
The seaman's art, from stem to stern,
To win my Cornish girl I'll learn;
I soon shall splice, and reef, and clew;
I'll walk the watch and think of you.
At sea, in love, no storm shall whelm—
Straight to the course I'll keep my helm:
In all I'll top yon gallant crew—
'Till when, dear Amabel, adieu!”
See, how the curving sails all swell:
The anchor 's up—she 's under weigh—
Smile on your sailor-boy to-day.
The pang it is to say Farewell
Is soothed by hope, sweet Amabel!
The seaman's art, from stem to stern,
To win my Cornish girl I'll learn;
I soon shall splice, and reef, and clew;
I'll walk the watch and think of you.
At sea, in love, no storm shall whelm—
Straight to the course I'll keep my helm:
In all I'll top yon gallant crew—
'Till when, dear Amabel, adieu!”
So spoke young Frank, nor scorn'd to sigh,
But dash'd a tear from either eye,
As too unmanly to be traced
By her on whom his heart was placed.
The manly sigh a smile repaid,
Sweet earnest from the Cornish maid,
If Frank return'd a lover true,
Her hand were his, as justly due.
She praised his courage—praised the bark,
With many a kind and proud remark;
Observing, as he check'd the tear,
How well he graced his naval gear:
Then talk'd of honour as the beam
That lights up love upon esteem;
And most of all the seaman's glory,
That lov'd, that never-failing story!—
Her father and her father's sire
Had kept alive the sacred fire:
Her brothers too in war had rose,
And help'd to humble Britain's foes;
And, but a Seaman, none should rest
His head upon her patriot breast.—
But dash'd a tear from either eye,
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By her on whom his heart was placed.
The manly sigh a smile repaid,
Sweet earnest from the Cornish maid,
If Frank return'd a lover true,
Her hand were his, as justly due.
She praised his courage—praised the bark,
With many a kind and proud remark;
Observing, as he check'd the tear,
How well he graced his naval gear:
Then talk'd of honour as the beam
That lights up love upon esteem;
And most of all the seaman's glory,
That lov'd, that never-failing story!—
Her father and her father's sire
Had kept alive the sacred fire:
Her brothers too in war had rose,
And help'd to humble Britain's foes;
And, but a Seaman, none should rest
His head upon her patriot breast.—
Now, proudly coasting near the sands,
See off and on the Frigate stands,
To bear, as seems the new behest,
Important tidings to the West,
Where Britain's foes, secure and proud,
With threat'ning sails the ocean crowd.
The Captain comes!—“Man, man the boat!”
The boat is mann'd, and Frank afloat;
The oar is plied the bark to reach,
And Amabel 's upon the beach:
All but her eyes; and, glazed, they hover
Above the boat where rows her lover.
The boatswain's pipe, the upraised oar,
Complete the passage from the shore;
Frank on the gangway sigh'd Farewell,
Nor check'd the drops as now they fell;
While Amabel her eyes withdrew
From gazing where they nought could view:
Tears, gushing from their mystic source,
Hold o'er her cheeks their tepid course,
Her patriot pride with fears annoy,
And teach her that she loves the boy—
For boy he was—the silky down
Proclaim'd him not to manhood grown:
A boy he was, but then a boy
With whom fair maidens cease to toy;
Expression beam'd upon his face,
And nature gave his person grace;
Gave winning speech for beauty's ear,
With virtue that was held sincere,
And looks that make all hearts his own,
While his was Amabel's alone.
See off and on the Frigate stands,
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Important tidings to the West,
Where Britain's foes, secure and proud,
With threat'ning sails the ocean crowd.
The Captain comes!—“Man, man the boat!”
The boat is mann'd, and Frank afloat;
The oar is plied the bark to reach,
And Amabel 's upon the beach:
All but her eyes; and, glazed, they hover
Above the boat where rows her lover.
The boatswain's pipe, the upraised oar,
Complete the passage from the shore;
Frank on the gangway sigh'd Farewell,
Nor check'd the drops as now they fell;
While Amabel her eyes withdrew
From gazing where they nought could view:
Tears, gushing from their mystic source,
Hold o'er her cheeks their tepid course,
Her patriot pride with fears annoy,
And teach her that she loves the boy—
For boy he was—the silky down
Proclaim'd him not to manhood grown:
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With whom fair maidens cease to toy;
Expression beam'd upon his face,
And nature gave his person grace;
Gave winning speech for beauty's ear,
With virtue that was held sincere,
And looks that make all hearts his own,
While his was Amabel's alone.
She, unaffected, free, and kind,
Had charms for taste far more refin'd
Than to such lowly station fell;
And many a Squire had own'd their spell.
There were whose words had met her scorn,
And some had wish'd her better born:
Her fixt ambition never rose
To pair with Squires, and gentle beaux;
And though her thoughts on seamen ran,
'Twas glory still, and not the man.
A brother's deeds in heat of battle
More sweetly on her ears did rattle,
More on her glowing bosom won,
Than feats by other heroes done.
And oft, as fancy rais'd war's thunder,
She enchanted Frank with many a wonder;
Told how Will fought 'gainst three alone,
And that ere yet a man full grown:
And how her elder brother's blow
Was sure to daunt the boldest foe;
And once—on this she loved to dwell,
For tenderness charm'd Amabel—
Courage e'en savage bosoms felt,
She loved the courage that could melt—
And once, when George's powerful sword
Had dash'd a foeman overboard,
Struck! struck! was heard the decks along;
The shout was Vict'ry's well known song:
The lower'd flag, the sinking foe,
Gave George's heart a two-fold glow;
The dying mariner to save,
He sprung spontaneous to the wave,
The nerves he numb'd his own supplied;
He rais'd him o'er the foaming tide,
Midst breaking billows kept afloat,
And lodg'd him safe on board the boat;
The boat which British mercy lends,
When British valour's duty ends.
So felt, so talk'd fair Amabel,
So taught her lover's heart to swell,
When time allow'd his raptur'd ear
To drink the tale to her so dear,
The while he gave his skilful aid
To knot the mesh, her father's trade:
Then, as the boy her hours beguil'd,
She oft would call him foolish child;
And, till within a year or so,
Would kiss his cheek, and bid him go.
Had charms for taste far more refin'd
Than to such lowly station fell;
And many a Squire had own'd their spell.
There were whose words had met her scorn,
And some had wish'd her better born:
Her fixt ambition never rose
To pair with Squires, and gentle beaux;
And though her thoughts on seamen ran,
'Twas glory still, and not the man.
A brother's deeds in heat of battle
More sweetly on her ears did rattle,
More on her glowing bosom won,
Than feats by other heroes done.
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She enchanted Frank with many a wonder;
Told how Will fought 'gainst three alone,
And that ere yet a man full grown:
And how her elder brother's blow
Was sure to daunt the boldest foe;
And once—on this she loved to dwell,
For tenderness charm'd Amabel—
Courage e'en savage bosoms felt,
She loved the courage that could melt—
And once, when George's powerful sword
Had dash'd a foeman overboard,
Struck! struck! was heard the decks along;
The shout was Vict'ry's well known song:
The lower'd flag, the sinking foe,
Gave George's heart a two-fold glow;
The dying mariner to save,
He sprung spontaneous to the wave,
The nerves he numb'd his own supplied;
He rais'd him o'er the foaming tide,
Midst breaking billows kept afloat,
And lodg'd him safe on board the boat;
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When British valour's duty ends.
So felt, so talk'd fair Amabel,
So taught her lover's heart to swell,
When time allow'd his raptur'd ear
To drink the tale to her so dear,
The while he gave his skilful aid
To knot the mesh, her father's trade:
Then, as the boy her hours beguil'd,
She oft would call him foolish child;
And, till within a year or so,
Would kiss his cheek, and bid him go.
Alas! poor Frank! his peaceful star
Had cast his lot remote from war;
From glory's brilliant paths removed,
Those paths by Amabel beloved.
A kinsman's skilful art he plied—
'Twas his the marble to divide;
Laborious, patient at the saw,
He shaped the tablet without flaw.
Already had his chisel found
Repute, from many a sculptured round
That deck'd the stone of one laid low;
Where well he burined words of woe;
Those plaintive words that end the story
Of age and youth, of love and glory.—
Here lie a husband dear, and wife;
A sister there departs this life;
A father, who had rear'd to worth
His child, lies mould'ring in that earth;
A loving son the tombs among,
Who ne'er a parent's heart had wrung:
Here pines a lover to his grave,
A hero there, exceeding brave.—
But what was skill, and what repute,
And burined epitaphs to boot?
All these possess'd (his sad heart sank)
No charms for her who charm'd poor Frank:
That bosom fair, that skin so sleek,
Was destined for a seaman's cheek;
And but a Seaman none could dwell
In thought with hope on Amabel.
Had cast his lot remote from war;
From glory's brilliant paths removed,
Those paths by Amabel beloved.
A kinsman's skilful art he plied—
'Twas his the marble to divide;
Laborious, patient at the saw,
He shaped the tablet without flaw.
Already had his chisel found
Repute, from many a sculptured round
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Where well he burined words of woe;
Those plaintive words that end the story
Of age and youth, of love and glory.—
Here lie a husband dear, and wife;
A sister there departs this life;
A father, who had rear'd to worth
His child, lies mould'ring in that earth;
A loving son the tombs among,
Who ne'er a parent's heart had wrung:
Here pines a lover to his grave,
A hero there, exceeding brave.—
But what was skill, and what repute,
And burined epitaphs to boot?
All these possess'd (his sad heart sank)
No charms for her who charm'd poor Frank:
That bosom fair, that skin so sleek,
Was destined for a seaman's cheek;
And but a Seaman none could dwell
In thought with hope on Amabel.
Fair blows the gale aslant the quarter,
The lessening Lizard notes departure,
The Ram proclaims the Vernal moon,
And Harrison has timed his noon—
Albion, farewell! Thy shores grow dim,
They sink down ocean's rounded rim,
They fade from eyes with tears that swell—
Loved shores of Albion! fare ye well!
The lessening Lizard notes departure,
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And Harrison has timed his noon—
Albion, farewell! Thy shores grow dim,
They sink down ocean's rounded rim,
They fade from eyes with tears that swell—
Loved shores of Albion! fare ye well!
Now, dashing through the sparkling brine,
To meet the Sun upon the line,
While onward to the bound he draws
Where stretch the Crab's repellent claws,
The frigate souths her slender bows,
And through the liquid sphere she plows.
A gallant bark, that lack'd not force,
Yet shaped for swiftness on a course,
Prepared, though light and gay she seem,
To grapple with a prouder beam.
A gallant crew as e'er rode sea
Full mann'd the famed Andromache.
A gallant youth as e'er left land
With skill and valour held command,
Who, like his vessel, firm though light,
Was built to hold a desperate fight—
And erst, or ere the tender skin
Had roughen'd o'er his youthful chin,
A boastful challenge he received,
In hostile irony conceived,
His courage and his skill to try
Apart from where the squadrons lie;
And lest his appetite might fail
His usual breakfast should regale,
As soon as e'er his forfeit sword
Was offer'd at the victor's board—
The Frigates meet, the cannon roar,
And speedily the fight is o'er,
And speedily the forfeit sword
Is offer'd at the victor's board,—
The British board, and, lost his sneer,
The foe partakes the Briton's cheer.
To meet the Sun upon the line,
While onward to the bound he draws
Where stretch the Crab's repellent claws,
The frigate souths her slender bows,
And through the liquid sphere she plows.
A gallant bark, that lack'd not force,
Yet shaped for swiftness on a course,
Prepared, though light and gay she seem,
To grapple with a prouder beam.
A gallant crew as e'er rode sea
Full mann'd the famed Andromache.
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With skill and valour held command,
Who, like his vessel, firm though light,
Was built to hold a desperate fight—
And erst, or ere the tender skin
Had roughen'd o'er his youthful chin,
A boastful challenge he received,
In hostile irony conceived,
His courage and his skill to try
Apart from where the squadrons lie;
And lest his appetite might fail
His usual breakfast should regale,
As soon as e'er his forfeit sword
Was offer'd at the victor's board—
The Frigates meet, the cannon roar,
And speedily the fight is o'er,
And speedily the forfeit sword
Is offer'd at the victor's board,—
The British board, and, lost his sneer,
The foe partakes the Briton's cheer.
Waves high the banner still unfurl'd,
Rebellious, o'er the Western world,
And Gallic aid with hope inspires
Conflicting sons against their sires:
Portentous roars war's mimic thunder,
Fated again the sphere to sunder,
And like convulsions, which of old
Distorted Nature's beauteous mould,
More fell, her moral links dispart,
And rend the chords that bind the heart.
Rebellious, o'er the Western world,
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Conflicting sons against their sires:
Portentous roars war's mimic thunder,
Fated again the sphere to sunder,
And like convulsions, which of old
Distorted Nature's beauteous mould,
More fell, her moral links dispart,
And rend the chords that bind the heart.
And o'er the wooden town of France
The Lily streamers gaily dance;
And many a huge and metall'd side
Now proudly press the electric tide:
Their weight the leeward convex feels,
And opes its surface to their keels.
Disporting with the tepid breeze
That fans the sun in torrid seas,
With pompous show they form the line,
Or beat against the foaming brine;
At once they fill the flowing sail,
And catch with stays the orient gale;
Bent, when enforced, to reach the west,
A gem from Britain's crown to wrest:
That gem, still sparkling in the ray
Of Britain's never fading day,
That gem which once Iberia wore,
Snatch'd from the Indian's native shore,
When Genius from the East went forth,
To poise the globe with Western earth.
The Lily streamers gaily dance;
And many a huge and metall'd side
Now proudly press the electric tide:
Their weight the leeward convex feels,
And opes its surface to their keels.
Disporting with the tepid breeze
That fans the sun in torrid seas,
With pompous show they form the line,
Or beat against the foaming brine;
At once they fill the flowing sail,
And catch with stays the orient gale;
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A gem from Britain's crown to wrest:
That gem, still sparkling in the ray
Of Britain's never fading day,
That gem which once Iberia wore,
Snatch'd from the Indian's native shore,
When Genius from the East went forth,
To poise the globe with Western earth.
What slender curve obscures the blue,
And strikes aloft the watchman's view?
What spires now meet his active eye,
Commixing ocean with the sky?
“Masts! masts! a fleet! a fleet!” he cries—
“A fleet! a fleet!” the deck replies:
Though on the cloudless blue no speck
As yet was seen from off the deck.
But soon the dusky beads appear:—
A second row surmounts the sphere;
Another still of greater size
Up bulges on the darkening skies—
He comes, he comes! De Grasse, beware!
The clouds that rise fell thunder bear:
They bear the lightning that shall pierce
The range of war thy sports rehearse:
In vain the wonted line you take,
He comes who first that line shall break.
See, as distinct the vision grows,
The waves his moving walls disclose!
He comes—lo! the tremendous train!
Leviathans upon the main!
Teeming with life and patriot wrath,
Their bosoms dash the hissing froth;
And straight upon the proffer'd line
They forward press the angry brine.—
Sever'd, the foe is lost in wonder,
Nor knows to guide his hostile thunder.
Divided strength is strength subdued;
The broken line is ne er renew'd—
From either ports Death wings his lead;
The foe is swept from stern to head;
From head to stern the cannon ply,
And rake the decks as cross they lie.—
A gallant chief was Rodney's foe,
But novel was the daring blow:
Confused, he owns the victor's skill,
And yields him to the mighty ill.—
But on that day, in either fleet,
Ceas'd many a noble heart to beat,
Which Poet's lays, and marbled story,
And Time, shall consecrate to glory—
And strikes aloft the watchman's view?
What spires now meet his active eye,
Commixing ocean with the sky?
“Masts! masts! a fleet! a fleet!” he cries—
“A fleet! a fleet!” the deck replies:
Though on the cloudless blue no speck
As yet was seen from off the deck.
But soon the dusky beads appear:—
A second row surmounts the sphere;
Another still of greater size
Up bulges on the darkening skies—
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The clouds that rise fell thunder bear:
They bear the lightning that shall pierce
The range of war thy sports rehearse:
In vain the wonted line you take,
He comes who first that line shall break.
See, as distinct the vision grows,
The waves his moving walls disclose!
He comes—lo! the tremendous train!
Leviathans upon the main!
Teeming with life and patriot wrath,
Their bosoms dash the hissing froth;
And straight upon the proffer'd line
They forward press the angry brine.—
Sever'd, the foe is lost in wonder,
Nor knows to guide his hostile thunder.
Divided strength is strength subdued;
The broken line is ne er renew'd—
From either ports Death wings his lead;
The foe is swept from stern to head;
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And rake the decks as cross they lie.—
A gallant chief was Rodney's foe,
But novel was the daring blow:
Confused, he owns the victor's skill,
And yields him to the mighty ill.—
But on that day, in either fleet,
Ceas'd many a noble heart to beat,
Which Poet's lays, and marbled story,
And Time, shall consecrate to glory—
But where is Frank? Among the dead?
Unnoted has his blood been shed?
Or has his valour gained the spell,
To charm the heart of Amabel?
Frank has profusely spilt his blood,
Has proved his prowess on the flood,
Has laid unequal numbers low,
Has dealt her brother's daunting blow;
Such valiant deeds, perform'd as well,
May seal his right to Amabel.
Close by his side that brother fought,
Whose powerful arm such terror wrought:
Th' admiring seaman clasp'd the boy,
And wish'd in thought his Sister joy.—
Unnoted has his blood been shed?
Or has his valour gained the spell,
To charm the heart of Amabel?
Frank has profusely spilt his blood,
Has proved his prowess on the flood,
Has laid unequal numbers low,
Has dealt her brother's daunting blow;
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May seal his right to Amabel.
Close by his side that brother fought,
Whose powerful arm such terror wrought:
Th' admiring seaman clasp'd the boy,
And wish'd in thought his Sister joy.—
Nor was it long before his tongue
To Amabel the praises wrung
Of manly Frank, whose heart and hand
Graced Cornish love, and Cornish land—
“Oh Amabel! had you stood by,
And seen the fire flash from his eye,
The bound with which he heard the word,
Along the gangway pass'd, to board,
How would your heart have beat for joy,
To see a hero in your boy!
Together o'er the rail we flew,
To grapple with the opposing crew,
And I had been among the dead,
Had Frank not saved your brother's head,
And borne the brunt, and giv'n the blow
That laid the sword and swordman low.
Meanwhile our lads in swarms alight,
But Frank was foremost in the fight:
Then with a spring, a lion's spring,
Or rather with an eagle's wing,
Across the lofty poop he flew,
And down the Lily standard drew.
But for the daring act he feels—
He turns—is struck—he backward reels—
He drops”—Who drops?—'Tis Amabel:
She heard the stroke—on her it fell.
No more her cheeks with crimson glow,
Her wounded heart has ceas'd to flow;
The drops of life no longer stir—
She dies for Frank, who died for her.
“Rouse, rouse thee, wench!” her brother cries,
As lifeless in his arms she lies—
“List to thy lover's gallant story:
Awake to sounds of love and glory—
He reeling drops—but soon the roar
Of leaden deaths that round him pour,
And shouts of, Struck! relieve his brain,
And give him back his life again—
Dost listen, girl?”—“I do, I do,
He down the Lily standard drew”—
—“Still grasps his hand the snowy prize,
And forward o'er the deck he flies,
The gangway clears, and quickly stands
Before the hero who commands,
Kneels on the deck with joy complete,
And spreads the Lily at his feet.
‘Well done! well done!’ the Captain cries,
And shakes his hand, and bids him rise;
And adds sweet words of British cheer,
Delightful to a seaman's ear:
Sweet words that through the frigate flew,
Repeated by her gallant crew,
As how that day might well decide
That Frank should be their boast and pride.
At parting, this he bade me tell,
He owed it all to Amabel.”—
Back to her cheek the life-stream rushes,
And praise and love prolong the blushes
That on the conquer'd bosom dwell,
Of Frank's enamour'd Amabel.
Oh Love! what magic pow'r is thine!
Transmitted from thy source divine!
The passions all confirm thy sway;
And hope, and fear, before thee play:
Revenge submits, and meekness rules,
Flames mild disdain, dire anger cools,
And now relax'd, and now intense,
As charms from thee thy laws dispense.
To Amabel the praises wrung
Of manly Frank, whose heart and hand
Graced Cornish love, and Cornish land—
“Oh Amabel! had you stood by,
And seen the fire flash from his eye,
The bound with which he heard the word,
Along the gangway pass'd, to board,
How would your heart have beat for joy,
To see a hero in your boy!
Together o'er the rail we flew,
To grapple with the opposing crew,
And I had been among the dead,
Had Frank not saved your brother's head,
And borne the brunt, and giv'n the blow
That laid the sword and swordman low.
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But Frank was foremost in the fight:
Then with a spring, a lion's spring,
Or rather with an eagle's wing,
Across the lofty poop he flew,
And down the Lily standard drew.
But for the daring act he feels—
He turns—is struck—he backward reels—
He drops”—Who drops?—'Tis Amabel:
She heard the stroke—on her it fell.
No more her cheeks with crimson glow,
Her wounded heart has ceas'd to flow;
The drops of life no longer stir—
She dies for Frank, who died for her.
“Rouse, rouse thee, wench!” her brother cries,
As lifeless in his arms she lies—
“List to thy lover's gallant story:
Awake to sounds of love and glory—
He reeling drops—but soon the roar
Of leaden deaths that round him pour,
And shouts of, Struck! relieve his brain,
And give him back his life again—
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He down the Lily standard drew”—
—“Still grasps his hand the snowy prize,
And forward o'er the deck he flies,
The gangway clears, and quickly stands
Before the hero who commands,
Kneels on the deck with joy complete,
And spreads the Lily at his feet.
‘Well done! well done!’ the Captain cries,
And shakes his hand, and bids him rise;
And adds sweet words of British cheer,
Delightful to a seaman's ear:
Sweet words that through the frigate flew,
Repeated by her gallant crew,
As how that day might well decide
That Frank should be their boast and pride.
At parting, this he bade me tell,
He owed it all to Amabel.”—
Back to her cheek the life-stream rushes,
And praise and love prolong the blushes
That on the conquer'd bosom dwell,
Of Frank's enamour'd Amabel.
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Transmitted from thy source divine!
The passions all confirm thy sway;
And hope, and fear, before thee play:
Revenge submits, and meekness rules,
Flames mild disdain, dire anger cools,
And now relax'd, and now intense,
As charms from thee thy laws dispense.
On Amabel what fears intrude!
For Love has Glory now subdued—
War bids the laurel-crown increase,
But rosy wreaths are twined in peace.
No longer danger pictures joy,
And storms a lover's sleep destroy;
And fever's yellow fire is known
To sweep off youth in torrid zone.
“Would he were here! why came he not?
Is Frank then left by choice or lot?
Why trust the tiding to another?
Why came he not? Oh say, dear brother”—
Her brother smiled—“Because,” said he,
“The lad had left th' Andromache;
Well pleas'd among the isles to cruize,
And bear to each the glorious news.
Nor deem'd he that he yet had done
The deeds by which fair maids are won.”—
The maiden sigh'd, but half supprest
The sigh rebounding in her breast;
Glory at once forsook her soul,
And Love triumphant sway'd the whole.
She knew her Sire had laid aside
A dowry fit for humble bride,
And pensive now the mesh she wove,
As hoarding treasure for her love.
At leisure times on shady bank
She thought, or spoke, or sung of Frank:
To sympathizing maiden's ear
Her voice was sweet, the theme was dear:
For Love has Glory now subdued—
War bids the laurel-crown increase,
But rosy wreaths are twined in peace.
No longer danger pictures joy,
And storms a lover's sleep destroy;
And fever's yellow fire is known
To sweep off youth in torrid zone.
“Would he were here! why came he not?
Is Frank then left by choice or lot?
Why trust the tiding to another?
Why came he not? Oh say, dear brother”—
Her brother smiled—“Because,” said he,
“The lad had left th' Andromache;
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And bear to each the glorious news.
Nor deem'd he that he yet had done
The deeds by which fair maids are won.”—
The maiden sigh'd, but half supprest
The sigh rebounding in her breast;
Glory at once forsook her soul,
And Love triumphant sway'd the whole.
She knew her Sire had laid aside
A dowry fit for humble bride,
And pensive now the mesh she wove,
As hoarding treasure for her love.
At leisure times on shady bank
She thought, or spoke, or sung of Frank:
To sympathizing maiden's ear
Her voice was sweet, the theme was dear:
Are Love and Glory deadly foes,
When Valour is in arms?
The deeds with which proud glory glows
In love create alarms.—
To love no more my breast I close,
Or longer shut out joy:
And though my heart with honour flows,
'Tis thine, my sailor-boy!
When Valour is in arms?
The deeds with which proud glory glows
In love create alarms.—
To love no more my breast I close,
Or longer shut out joy:
And though my heart with honour flows,
'Tis thine, my sailor-boy!
115
I wish'd thee Honour's glorious name,
With heroes brave to cope:
Enough for love thy early fame,
And fears supplant my hope:
Of valour now the loud acclaim
Comes mixt with war's alloy;
My bosom owns a gentler flame
For thee, my sailor-boy!
With heroes brave to cope:
Enough for love thy early fame,
And fears supplant my hope:
Of valour now the loud acclaim
Comes mixt with war's alloy;
My bosom owns a gentler flame
For thee, my sailor-boy!
Enough the deeds that thou hast done
To win a maiden's heart:
And now that maiden's heart is won,
They leave it long to smart;
For Valour scorns red death to shun,
In danger finds its joy—
Oh! further risk forbear to run
For me, my sailor-boy!
To win a maiden's heart:
And now that maiden's heart is won,
They leave it long to smart;
For Valour scorns red death to shun,
In danger finds its joy—
Oh! further risk forbear to run
For me, my sailor-boy!
The Andromache of 32 guns was very instrumental in bringing on the action of the 12th of April 1782. She was commanded by Captain George Anson Byron, the second son of Admiral Byron. The challenge and its results are facts.
Jamaica. It is scarcely necessary to say that Columbus discovered and took possession of it for the King of Spain.
It is said that Lord Rodney, at that time Sir George, was the first who put in practice the grand manœuvre of breaking the line at the commencement of an engagement.
Captains Bayne, Blair, Nott, and others. Lord Robert Manners being very badly wounded, was removed from his own ship, and died on the passage on board the Andromache, which was dispatched to England with the official account of the engagement.
116
Canto II.
Now, Fancy! skim the tropic wave!
There moves young Frank, the good, the brave;
And War's tremendous shouts no more
Along those placid stations roar;
But smooth and swift the Cutter glides,
Or peaceful in some harbour rides,
Spreading her joyous news the while,
With Rodney's name from isle to isle.
There moves young Frank, the good, the brave;
And War's tremendous shouts no more
Along those placid stations roar;
But smooth and swift the Cutter glides,
Or peaceful in some harbour rides,
Spreading her joyous news the while,
With Rodney's name from isle to isle.
They who have sail'd the Carib seas
Well know the Navigator's ease;
How oft the drowsy watch confides
The vessel's charge to him who guides;
While through the night, of all the crew,
There walks the deck but one or two:
And silence reigns, who sleep, who wake,
Which but their measur'd footsteps break,
Or rippling froth that steals along,
Or now and then the seaman's song;
Distinct, impressive, manly sound,
Upborne throughout the wat'ry round,
And studded canopy of blue,
With twinkling gems, to music true.
In such a night of Nature's sleep
Frank caroll'd to the placid deep,
Caroll'd of honour's pow'r with love,
In strains his Amabel might move:
Well know the Navigator's ease;
How oft the drowsy watch confides
The vessel's charge to him who guides;
While through the night, of all the crew,
There walks the deck but one or two:
And silence reigns, who sleep, who wake,
Which but their measur'd footsteps break,
Or rippling froth that steals along,
Or now and then the seaman's song;
117
Upborne throughout the wat'ry round,
And studded canopy of blue,
With twinkling gems, to music true.
In such a night of Nature's sleep
Frank caroll'd to the placid deep,
Caroll'd of honour's pow'r with love,
In strains his Amabel might move:
Oh! right is the maiden who loves the blue ocean;
'Tis to honour the heart's noblest feelings we owe:
When mingled with love, oh! how sweet the emotion!
Which singly no passion could ever bestow.
'Tis to honour the heart's noblest feelings we owe:
When mingled with love, oh! how sweet the emotion!
Which singly no passion could ever bestow.
Oh! right is the maiden! 'tis Love's dearest treasure
To store up reflection well worthy the breast:
And Honour's bright stream will best fill up the measure
With a cordial of Love that can ne'er lose its zest.
To store up reflection well worthy the breast:
And Honour's bright stream will best fill up the measure
With a cordial of Love that can ne'er lose its zest.
Right, right is the maiden!—and, oh! may I never
From the beam of her eye taste the double delight;
If of Honour and Love the bright links I e'er sever,
Which she taught me to know, and to prize, and unite.
From the beam of her eye taste the double delight;
If of Honour and Love the bright links I e'er sever,
Which she taught me to know, and to prize, and unite.
They who have braved the solar ray,
And anchor cast in Carib bay,
Where no foul streams the pureness mar,
Can tell how clear those waters are:
By day a crystal to the eye,
By night a mirror to the sky;
Each petty pebble seen below,
Or starry concave's wondrous show.
In such a bay the Cutter moors;
And thine, St. Vincent! are the shores;
Thine are the peaks that pierce the blue,
And thine the landscape's Indian hue,
The sloping fields of honied reed,
The ripening coffee's blushing bead;
The broad leaf'd plantain, shady palm,
The morning's breeze, the evening's calm.—
Such was the bay—Frank look'd around,
Admir'd, and wish'd it Cornish ground.
And why he wished it Love can tell:
His thoughts with all mix'd Amabel.
For at the pole, or 'neath the line,
'Tis Love that makes the sun to shine:
'Tis darkness all, where'er man lives,
Without the ray that Beauty gives.
As on the lovely scenes he pores,
'Tis Amabel that gilds the shores;
'Tis Amabel that smooths the tide,
Pellucid o'er the sands to ride;
And but for Amabel no ray
Had spread a charm o'er Carib bay.
And anchor cast in Carib bay,
Where no foul streams the pureness mar,
Can tell how clear those waters are:
118
By night a mirror to the sky;
Each petty pebble seen below,
Or starry concave's wondrous show.
In such a bay the Cutter moors;
And thine, St. Vincent! are the shores;
119
And thine the landscape's Indian hue,
The sloping fields of honied reed,
The ripening coffee's blushing bead;
The broad leaf'd plantain, shady palm,
The morning's breeze, the evening's calm.—
Such was the bay—Frank look'd around,
Admir'd, and wish'd it Cornish ground.
And why he wished it Love can tell:
His thoughts with all mix'd Amabel.
For at the pole, or 'neath the line,
'Tis Love that makes the sun to shine:
'Tis darkness all, where'er man lives,
Without the ray that Beauty gives.
As on the lovely scenes he pores,
'Tis Amabel that gilds the shores;
'Tis Amabel that smooths the tide,
Pellucid o'er the sands to ride;
And but for Amabel no ray
Had spread a charm o'er Carib bay.
Enough, enough, resounds the fray—
And hark the signal given to weigh,
To bear with speed the glorious noise,
And waken other shores to joys.
Th' assembled crew their stations seek,
And soon the anchor 's seen apeak:
The unfurl'd canvass courts the gale;
But zephyr scorns to kiss a sail.
The sun is hieing to the West,
And the poised air is left at rest—
The helmsman from the helm is fled,
The Cutter keeps her crystal bed—
“Furl, furl, my lads! the anchor cast,
And set the steady cable fast:
Submissive bow to Heaven's decrees,
And patient wait to-morrow's breeze.”
And hark the signal given to weigh,
120
And waken other shores to joys.
Th' assembled crew their stations seek,
And soon the anchor 's seen apeak:
The unfurl'd canvass courts the gale;
But zephyr scorns to kiss a sail.
The sun is hieing to the West,
And the poised air is left at rest—
The helmsman from the helm is fled,
The Cutter keeps her crystal bed—
“Furl, furl, my lads! the anchor cast,
And set the steady cable fast:
Submissive bow to Heaven's decrees,
And patient wait to-morrow's breeze.”
Resounds on shore the boist'rous treat;
Silence on board prevails, and heat.
Aslant the bay still pours the light,
The cooling waves to bathe invite;
And many a seaman plunges in,
Whose hands and face belie his skin;
For smoother, fairer, thus reveal'd,
Nor silk nor holland e'er conceal'd.
And Frank is first among this crew,
In daring pranks, and beauty too:
And oft his voice is heard to call;
“Where'er I lead, come, follow all.”
Head-foremost from the bow he flings
His airy form, and rising sings.
To emulate, each follower flies;
They leap, they dive, and shouting rise.
Now on the yard the leader stands;
One foot in air, and clasp'd his hands—
Aloud he shouts: “Come on, come on—”
And through the air the leader's gone;
And down the wave as far he wends
As o'er the wave the yard extends;
Then darting thwart the Cutter's keel,
He strikes the iron with his heel,
And rising to the surface' glare,
Breaks thro' the wave, and feasts on air;
Swells with new breath, and laughs aloud
That none had follow'd from the crowd;
While cross the deck they wond'ring glide,
And cheer him as he mounts the side,—
“Let those,” he cries, “who shun to dive,
For swiftness on the surface strive.”
“A race, a race,” the swimmers cry,
“And be the goal yon schooner's buoy.”
Again into the brine they throng,
Breast the cool wave, and glide along:
But strange the element, and speed,
At best, is slow in those who lead.
Nature her limits sure hath laid,
And checks all effort to invade:
But sportive efforts teem with joy—
See, Frank is first to reach the buoy.
All smile, and turn; together lave,
And gently backward part the wave,
The Cutter seek, now close, now wide,
Disporting as they press the tide.—
Silence on board prevails, and heat.
Aslant the bay still pours the light,
The cooling waves to bathe invite;
And many a seaman plunges in,
Whose hands and face belie his skin;
For smoother, fairer, thus reveal'd,
Nor silk nor holland e'er conceal'd.
121
In daring pranks, and beauty too:
And oft his voice is heard to call;
“Where'er I lead, come, follow all.”
Head-foremost from the bow he flings
His airy form, and rising sings.
To emulate, each follower flies;
They leap, they dive, and shouting rise.
Now on the yard the leader stands;
One foot in air, and clasp'd his hands—
Aloud he shouts: “Come on, come on—”
And through the air the leader's gone;
And down the wave as far he wends
As o'er the wave the yard extends;
Then darting thwart the Cutter's keel,
He strikes the iron with his heel,
And rising to the surface' glare,
Breaks thro' the wave, and feasts on air;
Swells with new breath, and laughs aloud
That none had follow'd from the crowd;
While cross the deck they wond'ring glide,
And cheer him as he mounts the side,—
122
For swiftness on the surface strive.”
“A race, a race,” the swimmers cry,
“And be the goal yon schooner's buoy.”
Again into the brine they throng,
Breast the cool wave, and glide along:
But strange the element, and speed,
At best, is slow in those who lead.
Nature her limits sure hath laid,
And checks all effort to invade:
But sportive efforts teem with joy—
See, Frank is first to reach the buoy.
All smile, and turn; together lave,
And gently backward part the wave,
The Cutter seek, now close, now wide,
Disporting as they press the tide.—
“Haste! gain the boat—” and what is haste?
In air 'tis in the Eagle traced:
Swift springs the tiger from the brake,
And finny tribes dart thro' the lake:
Such power to man was ne'er decreed,
And poor, compar'd to those, his speed;
And doubly poor, when, truant found,
He passes over Nature's bound.
In air 'tis in the Eagle traced:
Swift springs the tiger from the brake,
And finny tribes dart thro' the lake:
Such power to man was ne'er decreed,
And poor, compar'd to those, his speed;
123
He passes over Nature's bound.
“Haste! gain the boat!”—What sounds of bode!
“A monster lurks within the road”—
Leviathan! Is 't he?—Oh worse!
The glutton shark, a direr curse!
The finny wolf, whose horrid jaw
Is arm'd with Death's fell triple saw.
The sports above disturb the main,
And vibrate on that monster's brain.
Hark to the Bowman!—“Death 's afloat—
The monster comes—Haste! gain the boat.”
“A monster lurks within the road”—
Leviathan! Is 't he?—Oh worse!
The glutton shark, a direr curse!
The finny wolf, whose horrid jaw
Is arm'd with Death's fell triple saw.
The sports above disturb the main,
And vibrate on that monster's brain.
Hark to the Bowman!—“Death 's afloat—
The monster comes—Haste! gain the boat.”
Far distant, where the sands decline,
What fleeting figure cuts the brine?
Untutor'd vision from the deck
Sees but a little moving speck;
A minnow that a pin and thread
Might hasten to a drier bed.—
Deceitful vision! ah! too soon
Th' approaching magnitude comes on;
Like lightning thro' the deep sea breaking,
Its own horrific measure taking,
It comes—Mothers! where are ye now?
Where ye pledged maidens, under vow?
And Amabel, in love so blest,
Where, maiden, do thy blue eyes rest?
Let her whose breast has fed her boy,
To manhood rear'd him for her joy;
Let her whose Love is in the West,
Who hopes to press him to her breast;
Let Amabel, whose patriot blood
First lanch'd her lover on the flood,
Shriek to St. Vincent's hollow cry,
Shriek all in boding agony—
Shriek, British dames!—shriek, British daughters!
For Fate hath stain'd St. Vincent's waters—
Emerging half his mountain-hide,
The monster strikes the trembling tide;
And as he sidelong quivers through,
His prey he singles from the crew—
From off the Cutter's deck is seen
The human form his jaws between;
And long his course unveil'd to view
Thro' crystal depths all eyes pursue,
Till distance mocks the poring eye,
And nought reflects but agony.
While general horror chills the Bay
As yet unknown the singled prey:
Mute is the dread of unknown woe,
Uncertain still the grief to flow.—
As to the boat the swimmers ply,
In silent search turns every eye,
And soon, too soon, each voice is free—
The general groan proclaims, 'Tis he!
The sportive leader o'er the tide,
The Captain's boast, the seaman's pride,
The beauteous youth, the good, the brave,
Borne headlong to a horrid grave,
No moment given to sigh farewell
At once to life and Amabel.
What fleeting figure cuts the brine?
Untutor'd vision from the deck
Sees but a little moving speck;
A minnow that a pin and thread
Might hasten to a drier bed.—
Deceitful vision! ah! too soon
Th' approaching magnitude comes on;
124
Its own horrific measure taking,
It comes—Mothers! where are ye now?
Where ye pledged maidens, under vow?
And Amabel, in love so blest,
Where, maiden, do thy blue eyes rest?
Let her whose breast has fed her boy,
To manhood rear'd him for her joy;
Let her whose Love is in the West,
Who hopes to press him to her breast;
Let Amabel, whose patriot blood
First lanch'd her lover on the flood,
Shriek to St. Vincent's hollow cry,
Shriek all in boding agony—
Shriek, British dames!—shriek, British daughters!
For Fate hath stain'd St. Vincent's waters—
Emerging half his mountain-hide,
The monster strikes the trembling tide;
And as he sidelong quivers through,
His prey he singles from the crew—
From off the Cutter's deck is seen
The human form his jaws between;
125
Thro' crystal depths all eyes pursue,
Till distance mocks the poring eye,
And nought reflects but agony.
While general horror chills the Bay
As yet unknown the singled prey:
Mute is the dread of unknown woe,
Uncertain still the grief to flow.—
As to the boat the swimmers ply,
In silent search turns every eye,
And soon, too soon, each voice is free—
The general groan proclaims, 'Tis he!
The sportive leader o'er the tide,
The Captain's boast, the seaman's pride,
The beauteous youth, the good, the brave,
Borne headlong to a horrid grave,
No moment given to sigh farewell
At once to life and Amabel.
These lines bring to my mind the following exquisite picture in a poetical epistle addressed to Lady Charlotte R*wd*n, from the banks of the St. Lawrence, with a note, which is a pleasing corroboration of the complete transparency of the water in particular spots, in very different latitudes:
“Hither oft my flight I take
Over Huron's lucid lake,
Where the wave as clear as dew,
Sleeps beneath the light canoe,
Which reflected, floating there,
Looks as if it hung in air!”
Over Huron's lucid lake,
Where the wave as clear as dew,
Sleeps beneath the light canoe,
Which reflected, floating there,
Looks as if it hung in air!”
The Poet—(Mr. Moore)—says, in a note, “I was thinking here of what Carver says so beautifully in his description of one of these lakes—‘When it was calm, and the sun shone Bright, I could sit in my canoe where the depth was upwards of six fathoms, and plainly see huge piles of stone at the bottom, of different shapes, some of which appeared as if they had been hewn; the water was at this time as pure and transparent as air, and my canoe seemed as if it hung suspended in that element. It was impossible to look attentively through this limpid medium at the rocks below, without finding before many minutes were elapsed, your head swim, and your eyes no longer able to behold the dazzling scene.’”
What form is that that leaves the bower?
That sits on Thornbury's tott'ring tower?
And now it flits, absorb'd, alone,
Thwart narrow walls with grass o'ergrown;
The visage wan, the blue eye piercing,
The lips some broken tale rehearsing—
That feather'd cap, that bodice gay,
Bespeak the wearer's bridal day,
And yet no peals to pleasure call;
'Tis solitude and silence all.
That sits on Thornbury's tott'ring tower?
126
Thwart narrow walls with grass o'ergrown;
The visage wan, the blue eye piercing,
The lips some broken tale rehearsing—
That feather'd cap, that bodice gay,
Bespeak the wearer's bridal day,
And yet no peals to pleasure call;
'Tis solitude and silence all.
To strangers who the place explore
A grandam opes the wicker door:
She in the ruin's awful gloom
Appropriates a little room,
Where curious shells and motley rocks
Add many a shilling to her box,
When from the Castle's thorns and weeds
The exploring guests she thither leads—
“And who is that that left the bower,
And sat her fearless on the tower?
Whose feather'd cap, whose bodice gay,
Bespeak the wearer's bridal day?”
“Who, she? Poor Bel! God give her peace!
An please you, Bel 's my foolish niece.
Far West she comes—the story's sad—
They say she lov'd a sailor lad:
The sailor died, and Bel went mad.”
A grandam opes the wicker door:
She in the ruin's awful gloom
Appropriates a little room,
Where curious shells and motley rocks
Add many a shilling to her box,
127
The exploring guests she thither leads—
“And who is that that left the bower,
And sat her fearless on the tower?
Whose feather'd cap, whose bodice gay,
Bespeak the wearer's bridal day?”
“Who, she? Poor Bel! God give her peace!
An please you, Bel 's my foolish niece.
Far West she comes—the story's sad—
They say she lov'd a sailor lad:
The sailor died, and Bel went mad.”
Where open jut some ruin'd cells,
A solitary Echo dwells;
And Bel, in strolling thro' the ground,
By chance was charm'd to hear the sound.
“Frank!” says the maniac loud, and sighs;
And, “Frank!” the vocal air replies.
As the lov'd sound salutes her ear,
She fancies too the speaker near:
And, smiling, looks around, above,
Then rushes on to clasp her Love;
Searches in vain each corner o'er—
But now the voice is heard no more.
“Frank! Frank!” she cries—but Echo, mute,
No more returns the fond salute:
The coy respondent breathes no sigh,
Nor commune holds with one so nigh.
But long the suffering maniac strove
Around the walls to find her Love.—
At length with wild despair she sank,
She stretch'd her in the cold cell dank,
And her last breath was sigh'd to Frank.
A solitary Echo dwells;
And Bel, in strolling thro' the ground,
By chance was charm'd to hear the sound.
“Frank!” says the maniac loud, and sighs;
And, “Frank!” the vocal air replies.
As the lov'd sound salutes her ear,
She fancies too the speaker near:
And, smiling, looks around, above,
Then rushes on to clasp her Love;
Searches in vain each corner o'er—
But now the voice is heard no more.
128
No more returns the fond salute:
The coy respondent breathes no sigh,
Nor commune holds with one so nigh.
But long the suffering maniac strove
Around the walls to find her Love.—
At length with wild despair she sank,
She stretch'd her in the cold cell dank,
And her last breath was sigh'd to Frank.
At Thornbury, the Castle, belonging to Mr. Howard, is a fine ruin, and as such visited by travellers. A couple of rooms were occasionally inhabited in the shooting season. An old woman was allowed to live there to take care of it. She had a little chamber to herself, which she had furnished with trifling curiosities, shells, rocks, &c. which she exhibited gratis, though it may be imagined hardly ever without some spontaneous gratuity on the part of her visitors. The conclusion of the Poem was suggested by these ruins. There was an echo in the Castle grounds; and the old woman had a maniac girl with her, who used fearlessly to traverse every part of the dilapidated walls and places not very safe even for the steadiest heads to venture over.
| Adrastus, A Tragedy; Amabel, or The Cornish Lovers: And Other Poems | |