Daring in mien, of their star'd banner proud,
Breathing defiance, mov'd the warrior crowd;
Down the descent th' embodied seamen pour,
Darken the vale, and seek the haven's shore.
The full throng'd harbour, and the peopled shore, An awful, silent look of anguish wore.
There the soft maid the sailor's arm sustains
She holds him weeping and his form detains.
And there the father clasps his love and pride,-
His drooping wife and infants by her side.
The hoisted topsail beats against the mast
They lean in agony, and look their last-
Their sorrows stream; oh! who with heart to love,
Or eye to weep, those sorrows would
Aloof Delancey stood-no spousal tears
Fall on his breast-no shriekings pierce his ears. 145
In the proud lap of high adventure thrown,
No vows but those to Fame his pulses own.
He leaves no wretched wife to watch-to mourn-
And pile the beacon-fire till his return.
Yet led by Friendship to the wave-wash'd strand, 150
Warriors and Statesmen of Columbia's land
Hang on his steps-and, sighing, see his sail,
With ample canvass, loosen'd to the gale.
Their sweet remembrance oft had cheer'd his mind
On deck, amidst conflicting waves and wind;
For, e'en in scenes of peril and of death,
Friendship like flowers can scatter fragrant breath.
With smiles he gave them now his last embrace,
But his heart cast no image on his face;
And when they breath'd their tender, last fare-
well,
In look, not sound, the parting blessing fell.
With downcast eyes the silent bargemen stand,
As on the gunwale steps the Chief from land-
Shove off! the coxswain cries-the falling oar
Resounds, and creaking cleaves the billow hoar. 165
Heading the anchor'd bark, they silent row,
And as the cleft wave brawls around their prow,
The crowd's full plaudits reach the Captain's ear,
The shout from shore, and oft repeated cheer.
Sad on on the sea-beat strand a mother prest
Her soul's sweet solace to her throbbing breast-
Talbot-descended from a generous line,
Of fairest form, in look and air divine.
And wilt thou go, she said, relentless boy,
Where billows threaten, and where storms annoy, 175
To tempt the dangers of the restless deep,
And leave these wretched eyes to watch and weep.
Sure there's more pleasure in the tranquil charm
Of thy dear home, remote from rude alarm,
More in the lawn, the garden, and the wood,
Than in the billows of the boisterous flood.
When round thy bark the foamy surges curl,
And bursting mountains wild destruction hurl,
When thy heart sickens into deep dismay,
Nor tears, nor pray'rs the tempest can allay 185
Then, with wrung bosom, thou wilt cast thy eye
Towards thy home, and thither breathe a sigh,
And wish, though then the wish will come too late,
Thou ne'er hadst wander'd from thy mother's gate!
Thus wept the dame her unavailing woes
Melt not the boy whose breast with ardour glows: Yes! when at night, expos'd on deck, I keep
My lonely vigil listening to the deep,
Oft shall I paint to mind the dome and grove,
The hallow'd haunt of thy maternal love.
Yet not from fear-that passion should not sway,
But courage bear the sailor on his way.
And I, the son of one whose dauntless form
Ne'er on the billow shrunk beneath the storm,
Will, when the blast embroils the surging main, 200
Invoke his shade my spirit to sustain.
Eager of action, enemy to rest,
Thy arms I leave for Ocean's troubled breast.
There lies my ship-her gallant trim behold-
Her proud flag bears a wreath embost with gold. 205
She looks the pageant of the circling sea,
Home of the brave, the fortress of the free,
Destin'd to ride the mountain-wave sublime,
And roll her thunders on a hostile clime.
For know, the tyrants of the turban'd host
Detain our craft dismantled on their coast,
While in the noisome dungeon's baleful air
The crews lie languishing in dumb despair.
First to Britannia's coast the rapid breeze
Shall bear our war-bark tilting o'er the seas,
Envoy of peace, to give the generous hand,
And closer draw the ties of friendship's band.
Then bending on, our battle-tier shall roar
With retribution o'er the Moorish shore,
Till the long-peopled rampart shake, and all
Its rock-bas'd forts stand nodding to their fall.
The stripling ceas'd, and feeble to sustain
The bitter yearnings of the parting pain,
Tore from the matron's arms, let fall a tear,
And sought the pinnace rocking at the pier.
Oh! little dreamt he, as he hied to gain
The stately ship, and launch into the main,
That ship should hurl him from her mast's tall héad,
To mingle with the ocean's vagrant dead—
Sever'd from her who weeps upon the shore,
Never, ah! never, to behold her more-
Why kept he not at home his wand'ring feet,
And not thus weave his own-his mother's winding
sheet.
Now, with shrill pipe, the boatswain warns the train Not to delay their duty on the main.
The topsail flutters, and the signal-gun
Thrice far resounding since the rising sun,
Calls them on board-and streaming bright behold The stars of silver, and the stripes of gold.*
* The flag of the United States-reserved for higher destinies than Europe has the capacity to conceive-displays an assemblage of stars and stripes.
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