Oh! many a dream was in the Ship An hour before her death; And sights of home with sighs disturb'd The sleepers' long-drawn breath. Instead of the murmur of the sea The sailor heard the humming tree Alive through all its leaves, The hum of the spreading sycamore That grows before his cottage-door, And the swallow's song in the eaves. His arms inclosed a blooming boy, Who listen'd with tears of sorrow and joy To the dangers his father had pass'd; And his wife-by turns she wept and smiled, As she look'd on the father of her child Return'd to her heart at last. --- He wakes at the vessel's sudden roll, And the rush of waters is in his soul. Astounded the reeling deck he paces, Mid hurrying forms and ghastly faces ;
The whole Ship's crew are there! Wailings around and overhead, Brave spirits stupified or dead, And madness and despair.
While yet 'tis thine to save, Leave not the wreck, thou cruel Boat,
Uninjured o'er the wave,
And angel-hands will bid thee float
Though whirlpools yawn across thy way, Around thee fiercely rave! And storms, impatient for their prey,
Vain all the prayers of pleading eyes, Of outcry loud, and humble sighs, Hands clasp'd, or wildly toss'd on high To bless or curse in agony! Away like a strong-wing'd bird she flies, Despair and resignation vain! That heeds not human miseries, And far off in the sunshine dies
Hush! hush! Ye wretches left behind! Like a wave of the restless main. Silence becomes the brave, resign'd To unexpected doom.
How quiet the once noisy crowd! The sails now serve them for a shroud, And the sea-cave is their tomb. And where is that loveliest Being gone? Immortal though such beauty seem'd to be. Hope not that she is saved alone,
She, and the Youth that loved her too, Went down with the ship and her gallant
No favourites hath the sea.
Now is the Ocean's bosom bare, Unbroken as the floating air; The Ship hath melted quite away, Like a struggling dream at break of day. No image meets my wandering eye But the new-risen sun, and the sunny sky. Though the night-shades are gone, yet a vapour dull
Bedims the waves so beautiful; While a low and melancholy moan Mourns for the glory that hath flown. Oh! that the wild and wailing strain Were a dream that murmurs in my brain! What happiness would then be mine, When my eyes,as they felt the morning shine, Instead of the unfathom'd Ocean-grave Should behold Winander's peaceful wave, And the Isles that love her loving breast, Each brooding like a Halcyon's nest. It may not be :-too well I know The real doom from fancied woe, The black and dismal hue. Yea, many a visage wan and pale Will hang at midnight o'er my tale, And weep that it is truc.
CANTO II.
O HEAVENLY QUEEN! by Mariners beloved! Refulgent Moon! when in the cruel sea Down sank yon fair Ship to her coral grave; Where didst thou linger then? Sure it behoved
A Spirit strong and pityful like thee At that dread hour thy worshippers to save; Nor let the Glory where thy tenderest light, Forsaking even the clouds, with pleasure lay, Pass, like a cloud which none deplores, away, No more to bless the empire of the Night. How oft to thee have home-sick sailors pour'd Upon their midnight-watch, no longer dull When thou didst smile, hymns wild and beautiful,
Worthy the radiant Angel they adored! And are such hymnings breathed to thee in
Gleamst thou, as if delighted with the strain, And won by it the pious bark to keep In joy for ever?-till at once behind
A cloud thou sailest,—and a roaring wind Hath sunk her in the deep!
Or, though the zephyr scarcely blow, Down to the bottom must she go With all who wake or sleep,
Ere the slumberer from his dream can start, Or the hymn hath left the singer's heart ! Oh! sure, if ever mortal prayer Were heard where thou and thy bright stars
So many gallant spirits had not died Thus mournfully in beauty and in prime! But from the sky had shone an arm sublime, To bless the worship of that Virgin fair, And, only seen by Faith's uplifted eye, The wretched vessel gently drifted by The fatal rock, and to the crowded shore, In triumph and in pride the expected glory
No sea-bird, through the darkness sailing, E'er utter'd such a doleful wailing, Foreboding the near blast: If from a living thing it came, And soon its soul must part:- It sure must have a spectral frame, That groan broke from a bursting heart, The bitterest and the last.
None but its wretched self survive, The Figure moves! It is alive! Yea! drown'd are all the crew! And he, whom Ocean deign'd to save, Ghosts are they underneath the wave, Stands there most ghost-like too. Alone upon a rock he stands Amid the waves, and wrings his hands, And lifts to Heaven his steadfast eye, With a wild upbraiding agony.
To God: but God hears not his prayer; He sends his soul through the lonesome air For, soon as his words from the wretch depart,
Cold they return on his baffled heart. He flings himself down on his rocky tomb, And madly laughs at his horrible doom. With smiles the Main is overspread, As if in mockery of the dead; And upward when he turns his sight, The unfeeling Sun is shining bright, And strikes him with a sickening light. While a fainting-fit his soul bedims, He thinks that a Ship before him swims, A gallant Ship, all fill'd with gales, His senses return, and he looks in vain One radiant gleam of snowy sails- O'er the empty silence of the Main! No Ship is there, with radiant gleam, Not even one rueful plank is seen Whose shadow sail'd throughout his dream: To tell that a vessel hath ever been Beneath these lonely skies:
But sea-birds he oft had seen before Following the ship in hush or roar, The loss of their resting-mast deplore With wild and dreary cries.
She, who he thought could never die, is dead.
Drown'd! - still the breaking billows mutter, drown'd!
With anguish loud was her death-bed! Nor e'er,-wild wish of utmost woe! Shall her fair corse be found.
Oft had he sworn with faithless breath, That his love for the Maid was strong as death,
By the holy Sun he sware; The Sun upon the Ocean smiles, And, with a sudden gleam, reviles His vows as light as air.
Yet soon he flings, with a sudden start, That gnawing frenzy from his heart, For long in sooth he strove,
When the waters were booming in his brain, And his life was clogg'd with a sickening pain, To save his lady-love.
How long it seems since that dear night, When gazing on the wan moonlight He and his own betrothed stood, Nor fear'd the harmless ocean-flood! He feels as if many and many a day, Since that bright hour, had pass'd away; The dim remembrance of some joy In which he revell'd when a boy. The crew's dumb misery and his own, When lingeringly the ship went down, Even like some mournful tale appears, By wandering sailor told in other years. Yet still he knows that this is all delusion, For how could he for months and years have lain
A wretched thing upon the cruel Main, Calm though it seem to be? Would gracious Heaven
Set free his spirit from this dread confusion, Oh, how devoutly would his thanks be given To Jesus ere he died! But tortured so, He dare not pray beneath his weight of woe, Lest he should feel, when about to die, By God deserted utterly,
He cannot die Though he longs for death, Stronger and stronger grows his breath, And hopeless woe the spring of being feeds; He faints not, though his knell seems rung, But lives, as if to life he clung, And stronger as he bleeds.
But the weariness of wasting grief Hath brought at last its own relief: Each sense is dull'd! He lies at last As if the parting shock were past. He sleeps!-Prolong his haunted rest, O God!-for now the wretch is blest. A fair romantic Island, crown'd With a glow of blossom'd trees, And underneath bestrewn with flowers, The happy dreamer sees.
A stream comes dancing from a mount, Down its fresh and lustrous side, Then, tamed into a quiet pool, Is scarcely seen to glide. Like fairy sprites, a thousand birds Glance by on golden wing,
Birds lovelier than the lovely hues Of the bloom wherein they sing. Upward he lifts his wondering eyes, Nor yet believes that even the skies So passing fair can be:
And lo! yon gleam of emerald light, For human gaze too dazzling bright, Is that indeed the Sea?
Adorn'd with all her pomp and pride, Long fluttering flags, and pendants wide, He sees a stately vessel ride At anchor in a bay,
Where never waves by storm were driven, Shaped like the Moon when she is young in heaven,
Or melting in a cloud that stops her way. Her masts tower nobly from the rocking deep, Tall as the palmtrees on the steep, And, burning mid their crests so darkly green, Her meteor-glories all abroad are seen, Wakening the forests from their solemn sleep; While suddenly the cannon's sound Rolls through the cavern'd glens and groves profound,
And never-dying echoes roar around. Shaded with branching palm, the sign of peace,
Canoes and skiffs like lightning shoot along, Countless as waves there sporting on the seas; While still from those that lead the van a song,
Whose chorus rends the inland-cliffs afar, Tells that advance before that unarm'd throng Princes and chieftains, with a fearless smile, And outstretch'd arms, to welcome to their Isle
That gallant Ship of War. And glad are they who therein sail, Once more to breathe the balmy gale, To kiss the steadfast strand: They round the world are voyaging, And who can tell their suffering Since last they saw the land?
But that bright pageant will not stay: Palms, plumes, and ensigns melt away, Island, and ship! - Though utter be the change
(For on a rock he seems to lie All naked to the burning sky) He doth not think it strange.
While in his memory faint recallings swim, He fain would think it is a dream That thus distracts his view,
Until some unimagined pain
Shoots shivering through his troubled brain;
-Though dreadful, all is true. But what to him is anguish now, Though it burn in his blood, and his heart, and his brow,
For ever from morn to night? For lo! an angel-shape descends, As soft and silent as moonlight, And o'er the dreamer bends. She cannot be an earthly child,
Yet, when the Vision sweetly smiled, The light that there did play Reminded him, he knew not why, Of one beloved in infancy, But now far, far away.
Disturb'd by fluttering joy, he wakes, And feels a death-like shock; For, harder even than in his dream, His bed is a lonely rock.
Poor wretch! he dares not open his eye, For he dreads the beauty of the sky, And the useless unavailing breeze That he hears upon the happy seas. A voice glides sweetly through his heart, The voice of one that mourns ; Yet it hath a gladsome melody— Dear God! the dream returns!
A gentle kiss breathes o'er his cheek, A kiss of murmuring sighs,
It wanders o'er his brow, and falls Like light upon his eyes.
Through that long kiss he dimly sees, All bathed in smiles and tears,
A well-known face; and from those lips A well-known voice he hears.
With a doubtful look he scans the Maid, As if half-delighted, half-afraid, Then bows his wilder'd head,
And, with deep groans, he strives to pray That Heaven would drive the fiend away, That haunts his dying bed.
Again he dares to view the air:
The beauteous ghost yet lingers there, Veil'd in a spotless shroud:
Breathing in tones subdued and low
Bent o'er him like Heaven's radiant bow, And still as evening-cloud.
Art thou a phantom of the brain? He cries, a mermaid from the main? A seraph from the sky?
Or art thou a fiend with a seraph's smile, Come here to mock on this horrid Isle, My dying agony?—
Had he but seen what touching sadness fell On that fair creature's cheek while thus he spoke,
Had heard the stifled sigh that slowly broke From her untainted bosom's lab'ring swell, He scarce had hoped, that at the throne of grace
Such cruel words could e'er have been forgiven,
The impious sin of doubting such a face,
Sublime is the faith of a lonely soul, In pain and trouble cherish'd; Sublime the spirit of hope that lives, When earthly hope has perish'd. And where doth that blest faith abide? O! not in Man's stern nature: human pride Inhabits there, and oft by virtue led, Pride though it be, it doth a glory shed, That makes the world we mortal beings tread,
In chosen spots, resplendent as the Heaven! But to yon gentle Maiden turn, Who never for herself doth mourn, And own that faith's undying urn Is but to woman given.
Now that the shade of sorrow falls Across her life, and duty calls, Her spirit burns with a fervent glow, And stately through the gloom of woe Behold her alter'd form arise, Like a priestess at a sacrifice. The touch of earth hath left no taint Of weakness in the fearless saint. Like clouds, all human passions roll, At the breath of devotion, from her soul, And God looks down with a gleam of grace, On the stillness of her heavenward face, Just paler in her grief.
While, hark! like one who God adores, Such words she o'er her lover pours, As give herself relief.
Oh! look again on her who speaks To thee, and bathes thy sallow cheeks With many a human tear! No cruel thing beside thee leans, Thou knowest what thy Mary means, Thy own true love is here.
Open thine eyes! thy beauteous eyes! For mercy smile on me! Speak!-but one word! one little word! 'Tis all I ask of thee, If these eyes would give one transient gleam, To cheer this dark and dreadful dream, If, while I kiss thy cheek, These dear, dear lips, alas! so pale, Before their parting spirit fail, One low farewell would speak,-
This rock so hard would be a bed Of down unto thy Mary's head, And gently would we glide away, Fitz-Owen! to that purer day Of which thou once didst sing; Like birds, that, rising from the foam, Seek on some lofty cliff their home, On storm-despising wing.
Yes! that thou' hearst thy Mary's voice, That lovely smile declares!
Here let us in each other's arms Dissolve our life in prayers. I see in that uplifted eye, That thou art not afraid to die; For ever brave wert thou.
Oh! press me closer to thy soul, And, while yet we hear the Ocean roll, Breathe deep the marriage-vow! We hoped far other days to see; But the will of God be done! My husband! behold yon pile of clouds Like a city, round the Sun:
Beyond these clouds, ere the phantoms part, Thou wilt lean in bliss on my loving heart.
Sweet seraph! lovely was thy form, When, shrouded in the misty storm That swept o'er Snowdon's side, The Cambrian shepherd, through the gloom, Like a spirit rising from the tomb, With awe beheld thee glide;
And lovely wert thou, Child of Light! When, gazing on the starry night Within Llanberris Lake,
Thy spirit felt, in a hush like death, The fading earth's last whisper'd breath The holy scene forsake.
Oh! lovelier still, when thy noiseless tread Around thy aged mother's bed
Fell soft as snow on snow,
She looks like a bird of calm, that floats Unmoved when thunders roll, And gives to the storm as gentle notes As e'er through sunshine stole. Her lover leans on her quiet breast, And his heart like hers is still:
Ne'er martyr'd saints more meekly bow'd To their Creator's will.
As calm they sit, as they had steer'd To some little favourite Isle,
To mark upon the peaceful waves The parting sunbeams smile; As if the lightly feather'd oar
In an hour could take them to the shore, Where friends and parents dwell:
But far, alas! from such shore are they, And of friends, who for their safety pray, Have ta'en a last farewell.
But why thus gleams Fitz-Owen's eye? Why bursts his eager speech? Lo! as if brought by angel-hands Uninjur'd on the beach,
With oars and sails a vessel lies: Salvation from the gracious skies! He fears it is a dream; that woe Hath surely crazed his brain : He drives the phantom from his gaze, But the boat appears again.
It is the same that used to glide When the wind had fallen low, Like a child along its parent's side, Around the guardian prow
Of the mighty ship whose shadow lay Unmoved upon the watery way.
In the madness of that dismal hour, When the shrieking Ship went down, This little boat to the rocky Isle Hath drifted all alone.
And there she lies! the oars are laid
When thy yearning heart repress'd its sighs, As by the hand of pleasure,
And from thy never-closing eyes Forbade the tears to flow. But now unto thy looks are given The beauty and the power of Heaven: The sternness of this dismal Isle Is soften'd by thy saintly smile, And he, who lay, like a madman, bound In fetters of anguish to the ground, And heard and saw, in fearful strife, The sounds and the sights of unearthly life, Now opens his eyes that glisten mild Like the gladsome eyes of a waken'd child, For the hideous trance is fled;
And his soul is fill'd with the glory bright, That plays like a wreath of halo-light Around his Mary's head.
Most awful is the perfect rest That sits within her eye, Awful her pallid face imprest With the seal of victory.
Triumphant o'er the ghastly dreams That haunt the parting soul,
Preparing on the quiet tide To beat a gladsome measure. The dripping sail is careless tied Around the painted mast,
And a gaudy flag with purple glows, Hung up in sportive joy by those Whose sports and joys are past.
So lightly doth this little boat Upon the scarce-touch'd billows float, So careless doth she seem to be Thus left by herself on the homeless sea, That, while the happy lovers gaze On her, the hope of happier days
Steals unawares, like Heaven's own breath O'er souls that were prepared for death. They gaze on her, till she appears
As if she understood their tears; To lay there with her cheerful sail
Till Heaven should send some graciou. gale,
Some gentle spirit of the deep, With motion soft and swift as sleep.
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