Fragments and Fancies By the Lady E. Stuart-Wortley |
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ON THE LOSS OF THE ROTHSAY CASTLE
STEAM-BOAT, 1831.
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ON THE LOSS OF THE ROTHSAY CASTLE STEAM-BOAT, 1831.
Unknown—unclaimed—tossed as with other weedsTo silent Earth—and what heart feels or heeds?
And yet, perchance, these torn chill ashes were
To kindred bosoms exquisitely dear;
Perchance! Ah! surely—never yet on Earth
Lived one unloved, uncherished from his birth!
No! this pale dust hath once most precious been,
In eyes that viewed not life's last phrenzying scene,
When the fierce rushing night brought dread and death,
Stifling the latest prayer, and latest breath.
Now, the cold Sea to the cold Earth returns
These reliques wan—o'er which no fond one mourns!
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Casts a sad gaze, and momently laments;
Then with a sorrowing mien he turns away,
With hurrying steps to leave the unshrouded clay.
Yet, stranger! turn again! hast thou ne'er known
What 'tis to love a something all thine own?
Give to these hapless ones a few meek tears,
Lost in the beauty of their golden years;
Look on these pale fair forms—these broken flowers—
Once bright as rose-buds, in Spring's vernal hours;
Adopt these desolate orphans of the grave—
Bear them afar from the dull moaning wave;
Gather with kind and reverential hands
Their sacred ashes from the tide-worn sands;
Consign them to some calm unstormy tomb,
Where broods a tender and a tearful gloom—
Where breathes no tempest-gust to shake their rest,
But south-winds sweep the green sward's flowering breast:
Oh! how unlike their death-bed—yon mad sea—
Where all was awe and conquering agony!
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The bold—the timorous—and the weak and strong—
Ev'n as a sculptured groupe of Death—to await
The last stern signal from the hand of Fate—
Without the shadow of one hope—without
Even the chill comfort of one lingering doubt;
Yet if high Love and heavenly Faith were there,
Thou wert expelled—wert exiled—thence, Despair!
If, conscious of the Almighty Presence, still
They humbly yielded to the Almighty Will—
And bowed them meekly to the impending ill,
And on that anchor and that rock reposed,
Which still, to the eye that seeks them, are disclosed;
Then the worst bitterness of the opening grave
Was taken from the black and boiling wave!
If that same Love that tamed the storms of old—
The Love Almighty—breathed where thunders rolled,
Oh! how the tempests in their hearts were stilled,
Though Heaven and Earth with those wild terrors thrilled;
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Pierced through their souls the whisperings of that love;
The shock of the Elements—the roar of Seas—
Were weak and powerless when compared with these!
And surely, Gentlest Sufferers—in your woe—
That consolation's might 'twas yours to know;
Yes! we may hope—ye fair and beauteous dead—
Deep blessings o'er your fearful doom were shed;
And that 'twas given to ye, when doomed to part—
To die—soul linked in soul—and heart to heart
With your beloved ones—blessed even thus to share
That hour's unmeasurable Hope and Fear!
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