Those cliffs restor'd once more to these moist eyes,
Bid the pulse flutter, and the wishes rise.
Then thus the chief, who carelessly reclin❜d,
Felt indignation rising in his mind:
Infatuated pilgrim! thus to toil

4285

O'er sea again to die on England's soil,
And leave Equality's blest shore to find
And feel thyself a helpless, abject hind.
What! dreamst thou yet of some remain of ease
Beneath thy own hereditary trees?

4290

Like shadows come, so all thy friends are fled,
Thy hearth will echo only to thy tread-
And poor and needy, none thy worth will scan→
None will respect thee for thyself—a man-
But, leaning on thy staff, I see thee stand,
By all forsaken in thy native land.

Great souls by instinct to Columbia turn,

4295

Court her embrace, and for her friendship burn,
Our blest strand seek at inborn Freedom's call,
The true Castilian, and the genuine Gaul,
And flee a realm of tyranny the sport,
Curst with an inquisition, and a court-
But thou still pantest on in thraldom's train,
Taught to be wise by rolling suns in vain!

4300

XIV.

THE EDDYSTONE.

4305

4310

Tracing a line of foam from Cape to Cape,
Eastward, with flying sails, our course we shape,
And, as we spread our white wings to the wind,
Leave the projecting Lizard far behind.
So swift our speed, Fiction might feign around
The Tritons lulling ocean with their sound,
With all the Sea-Gods rising from the spray
To smooth the surge, and level make our way.
Now comes mild eve-the sinking orb of day
Beams a farewell-and from the distant bay,
Flash'd from some admiral's ship, the signal gun
Tells that the radiant god his course has run.
Bright'ning the east, the crescent of the night
Looks from the sky, and sheds her silver light
O'er the mix'd scene-and, as she mildly roves,
Claims her pale empire o'er the tide and groves.
Silent the deck, while the waves slowly roll,
A pensive pleasure steals upon the soul,
Devout, not frantic, looking to its fate

Beyond the stars, releas'd from mortal state.
Now rove we Albion's channel, where the bight
Displays the ruddy watch tow'r on the height

Q

Of Eddystone-and, as the fair lamp gleams,
Our fancy paints the man that trims its beams,
Who, when the warring elements deny
Peace to the breast, and slumber to the eye,
Full many a night endures the tempest rude,
Rock'd by the winds in sea-girt solitude.

4330

While on the deep the moonlight sweetly sleeps,
Our bark secure the midway channel keeps,

* The Eddystone light-house stands on a rock in the sea, about 14 miles S. S. W. of Plymouth, and is exposed in tempests to such tremendous waves, that they fly up, at short intervals, in white columns, above the beacon, and totally intercept it from the sight. The first edifice erected on the rock was the achievement of Mr. Winstanley, who had such a conviction of its power to resist the fury of the elements, that he expressed his wish to be there in the greatest storm that could blow under the face of the Heavens. This was fatal presumption; for in the almost unprecedented hurricane of the night of November 26th, 1696, the confident architect being in the light-house, was deplorably swept with it into the deep, together with all his ill-fated associates. The present structure is a monument of the genius of Smeaton.

With wind direct our course we eastward trace,
And pass the Start's low point, and Portland race,"
By Adhelm's promontory plough our way,
And now, conspicuous with the dawning day,
The fatal cliffs of Purbeck frown around,
Where, on the rocky steep's sepulchral mound,
Pale Memory sits, and points the shore once spread
With the wreck'd bark, and corses of the dead.
Weeping she tells how, on the sea-drench'd wreck,'
Two daughters hung around their father's neck,
Who sought from every eye to veil his woe,
While yawn'd his children's briny tombs below.
The mate appears, a mournful glance he threw
Around, and urg'd the leader of the crew:
"The vex'd hull parts-oh! here no longer dwell,
"But give each child your blessing and farewell*—

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*The loss of the Halsewell was attended with such peculiar scenes of affliction, that poetry performs a hallowed office in recording them. She sailed from the Downs on the 1st of January, 1786, and Captain Pierce was taking out his two daughters with him, Miss Eliza Pierce, aged sixteen, and Miss Mary Anne Pierce, a year younger, on a visit to a brother opulently settled at Bengal. Besides these, there were on board five other young ladies: namely, Miss Anne and Miss Mary Paul, nieces of Captain Pierce, Miss Mary Haggard, Miss Elizabeth Blackburn, and Miss Anne Mansell. Every thing augured an agreeable voyage; the breeze was fair, and the water smooth; all were in high spirits, and the harp and song resounded in the cabin. But this flattering prospect soon changed to one of terror and dismay. On the 3d a fatal storm lighted upon the ship, and, in bearing up for Portsmouth, she was driven on shore and wrecked, at two in the morning of the 6th, near St. Adhelm's Head, on the Purbeck coast, under

"Hence, captain-fly the soul subduing strife "Of fruitless love-bethink thee of thy life"Hence with me, Pierce-behold the bowsprit bends

"No more delay-or, hope in ocean ends."— "Hie thee aloft, my Meriton," he cries, "To-morrow's sun may pleasure yield thine eyes, "But mine would all a gloomy blank behold, "Without the innocents these arms infold"The more their peril, frenzy and distress, "Their forms the closer to my heart I press." More loud the tempest, and more fierce the thrall Of the huge waves that rise, and burst, and fall, Each maid in agony, with upborne eye, Silent implores the succour of the sky, But Pity long has fled in dire dismay,

4365

And may not come where Havoc holds his sway.

perpendicular rocks 400 feet in height. The ship came with her broadside on the reef, when the horrors of the hurricane were aggravated by intense darkness; and on Mr. Meriton, the chief mate, going below to exhort Captain Pierce to make no delay in endeavouring to get on shore, as the wreck could not hold many minutes together, he found his daughters clinging to him for protection under every accumulation of suffering from the outrageous fury of the blast, the breach of the waves, and the impervious gloom of the morning. Captain Pierce replied to the exhortations of his officer, by asking him whether he thought his daughters could be saved; and, on Mr. Meriton answering that it was impossible for the ladies to escape, he addressed himself to his daughters, and folding them in his arms, said, "Then,

my dear children, we will perish together." The wreck disappeared in a few minutes afterwards.