Imatges de pàgina
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And now I part from thee with pain,
Nature's primeval child,

For haply I may neʼer again

List to thy music wild;

Sit on thy marge and gaze away

Hours on thy hoary sparkling spray,

Dwelling upon strange thoughts of thee.-
The sea, the sea for me!

Farewell! thou wonder of the earth,

Coeval, perhaps, with time,

That swept, ere yon bright orb had birth,

Thy foam o'er every clime

In darkness, ere the all-forming God
Call'd from thy depths the rock and clod :—

Earth's image of eternity!—

The sea, the sea for me!

The Shannon and Chesapeake,

JUNE 1, 1813.

The following little Poem records one of the most gallant actions of the late war between Great Britain and America. Compositions such as these are not meant to encourage a spirit of national rivalry, when the causes of dissension are happily subsided, but to preserve such a remembrance of heroic events as should keep alive that universal patriotism which is the best shield against a future danger, however distant be the period of its recur

rence.

OFT blew the gale, and fair the day

SOFT

Rose on the broad Atlantic tide;
And not a cloud obscured the ray

That gilded all that ocean wide;

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The Sea.

But when in anger tempest-driven,
The impending billows nod,
And tell in accents thunder-given

The majesty of God,—
Tearing the solid clifts apart,

And knocking at the boldest heart;
Who feels not his humility?
The sea, the sea for me!

Those reinless waters haughtily
Bear their white crests along ;
Fierce in the power of liberty,

In their own freedom strong;-
Scornful they jeer at human pride,
Strewing its wrecks upon their tide :

The shore is man's, the waves are free-
The sea, the sea for me!

I was a child when first I laid
My bosom on its foam,

And all my youthful years I made
Its shores and rocks my home;
I dash'd among its breakers white,
And breathed their freshness with delight,
They often sooth'd my misery-
The sea, the sea for me!

Absence of years doth but increase
My fondness for the deep,
And I could wish in its embrace,
When life is o'er, to sleep-
Uncoffin'd, and without a dirge,
Flung in the unfathomable surge,
Buried in its immensity

The sea, the sea for me!

:

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And now I part from thee with pain,
Nature's primeval child,

For haply I may ne'er again

List to thy music wild;

Sit on thy marge and gaze away
Hours on thy hoary sparkling spray,
Dwelling upon strange thoughts of thee.—
The sea, the sea for me!

Farewell! thou wonder of the earth,

Coeval, perhaps, with time,

That swept, ere yon bright orb had birth,
Thy foam o'er every clime

In darkness, ere the all-forming God

Call'd from thy depths the rock and clod:

Earth's image of eternity!—

The sea, the sea for me!

The Shannon and Chesapeake,

JUNE 1, 1813.

The following little Poem records one of the most gallant actions of the late war between Great Britain and America. Compositions such as these are not meant to encourage a spirit of national rivalry, when the causes of dissension are happily subsided, but to preserve such a remembrance of heroic events as should keep alive that universal patriotism which is the best shield against a future danger, however distant be the period of its recur

rence.

OFT blew the gale, and fair the day

SOFT

Rose on the broad Atlantic tide;

And not a cloud obscured the ray

That gilded all that ocean wide;

The Shannon and Chesapeake.

And haply not an angry spray

Broke on the ship's majestic side,That glided through that tranquil deep, Her silent, cautious watch to keep.

And lonely there she wore till noon,
When, as she near'd the Western land,
Her captain ask'd of Heaven a boon,
As calm he look'd on Boston's strand,
That from her port, advancing soon,

Yon trim-built frigate's haughty band:
Might tempt the vengeance of the fight,
Whilst linger'd yet that day's good light.

For 'twas a day of British fame,

A day which taught the seamen still To think of HOWE'S triumphant name, And glow with all a patriot's thrill; And not a man that day, for shame, Would bend his fearless, haughty will, To crouch whilst any Western foe Should dash the British pennon low.

Forth from the port, in gallant trim,

The fearless chieftain gaily sweeps, And swears no British sail shall swim So proud in Massachusett's deeps;

66 Come, fill a goblet to the brim;

We'll crowd her deck with slaughter'd heaps, And haul her to our gazing shore,

Ere two short hours of chase are o'er."

And now the swelling sails are set,

And stiffly catch the rising gale, As, gliding o'er that ocean, yet

Aloof the rival vessels sail ;

B

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And now the gallant foes are met;
No heart is cold, no cheek is pale,
As loud they shout from either bow,
"What, Chesapeake !"—" What, Shannon! ho!"

Four mighty broadsides swept each deck,
As lock'd in fierce embrace they lie;
They might have fired till either wreck
Had sunk beneath the sulphury sky;—
For not a man that bow'd the neck
Fell with a recreant's ghastly cry,
But shouted with a dying flame,
The war-cry of his country's name.

But soon the doubtful fight was done,
Before a sailor's corse was cold;
For, rushing furious from his gun,

Each Briton storm'd the foeman's hold;
Then was the slaughter's rage begun,

As o'er the slippery decks they roll'd ;In vain they fight, in vain they die,England's proud red cross waves on high!

And now that sea, once more serene,
Heard not the battle's lengthen'd roar,
For, sailing by that evening sheen,

The captors sought a friendly shore;-
But still that triumph and that scene

No unmix'd smile of pleasure wore, For many a seaman found his grave In that becalm'd Atlantic wave.

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