I knelt....A parent spurned me from his feet, I merit this....but not that thou shouldst treat The night-blast howls.....Onward the black clouds roll, Darkening the moon-beam with their sullen gloom; These horrors suit the temper of my soul.... 'Tis still as Death....But hark! the sounding stream Gives token where she plunged...Dimly descried, On the dark wave with faint and transient gleam Sparkles the foam; then still the waters glide. THE FISHERMAN'S WIFE. DEDICATED TO ALL ADMIRERS OF THE FAMILIAR STYLE OF TALE-WRITING, SO POPULAR IN 1800. THE FISHERMAN'S WIFE. THE morn was fair, and fresh the breeze On the broad wave his slender bark He sung and trimmed his little sail, And swiftly flew the boat along. T i Then o'er the lake he steered, to gain But who is she in Basil's cot Who sits so sad with folded arms, Whose face is full of her alarms? And who but Rachel may it be? And now she calls her little child, She calls her little daughter Jane; For fast drives down the pelting rain..... |