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With overpowering impulse, gloom, and fears,
And left the vessel merging in the deep; While some remained to weep and howl in tears,
And perish there in Fate's devouring sweep;
And up the rigging then did many creep,
Frantic in all the horror of despair,
In vain for mercy there to wail and weep,
And sigh in sorrow to the midnight air,
And pour to nature's God their dying prayer.
Amid the deafening clamour, grief, and woe,
With sympathetic tenderness survey
The sobbing mother there, with many a throe
Of tearless anguish, stooping now to pray
O'er her two smiling innocents at play,
Whose happy voices mingle with the moan
Of broken-hearted sorrow and dismay,'
But little knew the storm was speeding on
To drift their little barks to shores unknown.
For ere a few short fleeting moments passed
The horrid scene its dismal climax gained,
As down head foremost bounced she at the last,
And in the bosom of the deep remained.
Swamped were the boats, though every nerve was strained To poise the little skiffs upon the wave;
And then and there gaunt Death in triumph reigned, From whose dominion nothing could them save, And now all hope to desperation gave.
The night, wrapped deep with splashing labour, groaned
In dismal concert to the shriek and yell
Of struggling mortals, who, in sinking, moaned
To those they loved the long and wild farewell,
Whose deep-toned^peals rung as a funeral knell; But louder far those female screams and cries
Which rose amid the waves' devouring swell; And dread the howlings and departing sighs Which marked that hour of death and agonies.
But soon, ah soon, and all was past and gone!
The sounds of woe and wailing heard no more, The billowed deep in solitude rolled on
With bold, majestic, and hoarse swelling roar
O'er many a death-chilled heart which short before Beat high in virtue, noble, bold, and brave;
With lovers fond, whom Fate asunder tore, As youth and beauty failed that night to save, And talent, worth, and wisdom found a grave.
ON THE DEATH OF A LADY.
®HOU glorious mirror of the Deity!
Hail! Virtue, hail ! however here attired;
The cot, the palace, are alike to thee,
Diffusive as the light, and ever free.
Who are save self-excluded from thy pale 1
Source of all good, supreme to be desired,
As dust with thee a world is, in the scale;
Native of realms where angels had their birth,
Uniting God with man, and heaven with earth.
Oh truth sublime! despite that blight we know,
Which paled an Eden's once immortal bloom,
What sweet memorials of its genial glow,
And pristine splendour, mark we here below,
In Virtue's presence, sacred and divine,
Circling in lucid halos to the tomb I
The heads of those whose memories shall shine
As lights, to generations yet unborn,
Whose hearts and lives humanity adorn.
But ah ! how brief on earth the best career!
A moment, and the meteor's flash is o'er.
All is but change and separation here,
Howe'er esteemed and to each other dear;
As shadows hence we fleeting pass away,
Our absence leaving others to deplore,
Who Nature's debt in turn alike must pay;
Pre-doomed are all: life, even at the best,
Reminds us daily this is not our rest.
What desolation ever and anon!
Again we mourn the ravages of fate:
The worthy and the excellent is gone,
And Heaven with usury resumed his own;
"True To The End," and to her God endeared,
O brilliant model of the truly great I
Wherever known, regretted and revered;
Long bright emblazoned on the roll of Fame,
Shall flourish her thrice venerable name.
Though rich in all that affluence could ensure,
With melting sympathy her bosom glowed
Towards the hapless, the infirm, and poor,
Whose comfort was her glory to secure;
For ever ready succour to extend,
Her own, their cause by nameless deeds she showed,
And proved of friendless poverty the friend.
As such, devoted, amiably she stood,
And passed a life in daily doing good.
Her heart was open as her gates to all,
No homeless wanderer implored in vain;
Nor e'er was spurned gaunt Famine's moving call,
From the well-known and hospitable hall,
Where ragged wretchedness and helpless age,
The widow, fatherless, and orphan train,
Were sure her deep compassion to engage;
Yea, found calamity, of every form,
There in her pity refuge from the storm.
Nor was that charity to home confined,
And slumbered save when suffering pleaded
The local poor seemed round her heart entwined.
Wherever need in lonely sorrow pined,
When known, was true benevolence displayed;
While oft, with kind anticipating care,
It others sought to bless with secret aid;
Thus saving modesty the blush and throe,
And lighting smiles where tears were wont to flow.
How many here her bounty warmed and clad,
When bleak and frowning Winter would return;
May o'er the memory of the honoured dead,
In sighing unity, devoutly shed
The holy, pearly tribute of the heart,
And deeply now a modern Dorcas mourn;
Heaven knows if gratitude is not their part,
The only sacrifice the poor can make:
Long hallowed may it burn for Virtue's sake.
Though nature wrings from every breast the
We will not weep as those who hopeless weep;
In God, O blessed are the dead who die I
In peace, as havened barks, secure they lie—