Imatges de pÓgina

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 neard 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;
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 ;


And now the gallant foes are met ;

No heart is cold, no cheek is pale, As loud they shout from either bow, “What, Chesapeake I”_"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 rolld ;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.


As loud they shout from either bow,
“What, Chesapeake !” “What, Shannon, ho!”
Four mighty broadsides swept each deck,
As locked in fierce embrace they lie.-P. 18

A Dream.


A Dream.

A ,

A vision. unallied to pain; And, in my day-dreams, it has kept

Possession of my heart and brain It is a portion of my soul,

And, if the soul may never die, That vision now is past control,

And shares its immortality.

It took a form that time may change

In others' eyes, but not in mine, For coldness—hate-cannot estrange

My still unshaken heart from thine. I saw thee then as I have seen

The cherish'd one of earlier years, Ere pale Suspicion came between

Our hearts, and poison’d both with fears.

I heard thee speak, and felt the tone

Of welcome o'er my spirit steal ; As if our souls had never known

What those who part in coldness feel. Thy hand to mine in fondness clung,

And when I met its thrilling press, I almost deem'd it had a tongue

That whisper'd love and happiness.

'Tis said, that dreams may herald truth;

But dreams like these are worse than vain; For what can bring back vanish'd youth,

Or love's unshaded hours again?

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