Their tender parting on the sea-beat strand
Dissolv'd the most obdurate of our band,
When with soft action, and with plaintive tongue,
To her lov'd child the weeping parent clung,
And fondly pray'd, with eyes and hands upborne,
The host of heav'n to grant his safe return-
But fruitless her sad suit-she hopes in vain
Soon on his breast to lean her head again!
The warrior ceas'd, and, as he turn'd to weep,
A shriek was heard arising from the deep-
A tender, plaintive, lamentable cry,
That seem'd in anguish to invoke the sky
Clouds veil'd the starry host-through darkness drear The well known accents vibrate on the ear
Of all the crew. Urg'd by the clamorous crowd
Their gallant leader answer'd thrice aloud,
And thrice, while bristling locks his dread proclaim,
With eager voice he calls on Talbot's name.
No answer made he. Fill'd with awe profound,
In mute amaze the seamen stood around-
Our bark her sympathy could not restrain,
Her long keel trembled on the refluent main, 3720
And had she been with human speech endow'd,
Her sorrows then in mournful tones had flow'd.
Wild in amazement, but to doubt inclin'd,
Hampden the chief accosts with anxious mind :
Saw you not rising from his watery bed
The mournful phantom of our Talbot dead?
Ghastly his visage, but the same his mien,
Erect, and conscious what he once had been?
I saw the wretched blue swoln boy, and knew,
Though clouds half-veil'd him from my piercing view--
Pale was his face-no more the enliv'ning red
Mantled his cheek-there grief its ravage spread-
And oh! his glazed look all words defy-
There was no speculation in his eye!
My blood ran back, depriv'd of vital heat-
My shaking knees against each other beat-
Trembling I seiz'd an oar to give my aid
To a poor ghost, a disembodied shade,
And call'd the crew to low'r the boat, and save
Their shrieking shipmate from the salt-sea wave-
The morning planet told the approach of light,
Flitting he sunk and vanish'd from my sight-
No form above the deep-no sign appears—
All help that I could lend was helpless tears!
Oh! no kind help, the melting chief replies, 3745
Is doom'd the shade-that blessing heav'n denies-
His corse unurn'd, the spirit scem'd to mourn
Its wretched body vagrant and forlorn.
Whirl'd by the eddies of the raging wave,
A vault tumultuous, and a living grave;
His sad remains no mortal's soothing care,
He call'd on us to rescue and to spare!
The vessels part in silence—and our sails
Reflect the dawn, and catch the fresh'ning gales.
Still fond affection pours the tide of woe,
Still for the boy the seamen's sorrows flow-
No joy to them convey'd the morning-ray,
But stretch'd unsocial on the deck they lay;
There on the plank a couch of grief they found,
And mantles wrapp'd their drooping heads around.
As now exulting to Britannia's shore,
Around our keel the billows part and roar,
The attentive chief, with compass taught to stray,
On the spread chart points out the vessel's way,
To the fast anchor'd isle" directs his eyes,
And spans the distance that between us lies.
Beneath his cabin-roof he sat reclin'd;
While sped the rapid bark before the wind;
Dashing the quivering rudder in its sweep,
Was heard the billow of the darkening deep. 3770
A brilliant lamp, above the table hung,
Sway'd by the roll, in long vibration swung;
On either side the floor three guns appear,
The sternmost cannon of the warlike tier,
Between whose carriages, of dusky red,
The pointed piles of iron balls are spread.
A moorish youth attends in vesture fair-
A swelling turban binds his jetty hair-
Behind the captain's chair he silent stands,
And half-familiar folds it with his hands.
Now, to the young lieutenant by his side,
Thus spoke the man in war and tempests try'd :
Hampden, if two more days this breeze prevail,
In port shall we be furling every sail.
At break of day, when dreams they say are true,
I dream'd the sea had lost its azure hue,
And ere my eye-lids drowsy slumber fled,
I made the coast of Cornwall right ahead. —
I dream'd we made it broad upon the bow,
And that the girls had got the ship in tow.*- 3790
* When, on approaching land, a ship goes fast through the water, the tars facetiously say that the girls have got her in tow.
Their shapes o'ertake you wheresoe'er you rove,
Whether o'er sea, or through the rural grove.
Who in the scuppers has two skulks to-night ?*-
Beside you, Sir, behold that luckless wight!—
Then, list lieutenant-when the morn appears, 3795
And from her tresses shakes old Ocean's tears,
Place at the airy mast-head some good hand,
Or rather eye, to look well out for land,
Some canvass-climbing boy with footsteps light,
Some youthful Lynceus of unrivall❜d sight.
Let him his glance employ, and soon the crew
Will find their navigator's dream prove true.
Lorenzo, on the deck my wishes bear,
And bid the officer below repair.
Stand give the word! who at this hour goes there?
A friend to this good ship-a yankey tar.—
Randolph! what cheer? your hanging capes denote
A fresh breeze landward wafts our good sea-boat.
What news aloft? make you the sod to-night ?—
Naught but Cape Fly-away is yet in sight. 3810
Though leaning lately o'er the rough-tree rail,
I snuff'd the Cornish coal-fires in the gale,
* In ships of war the crew keep alternately four and eight hours nightly watch; they who weather out the eight hours come twice on deck, and, in the good old sea-term, are said to have two skulks in the lee-scuppers.
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