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The wayward steel, to truth thus reconciled,
No more the attentive pilot's eye beguiled.
lash'd on by destiny severe,
With horror fraught, the dreadful scene drew near!
The ship hangs hovering on the verge of death,
Hell yawns, rocks rise, and breakers roar beneath!
In vain, alas! the sacred shades of yore
Would arm the mind with philosophic lore;
In vain they'd teach us at the latest breath,
To smile serene amid the pangs of death.
Even Zeno's self, and Epictetus old,
This fell abyss had shudder'd to behold.
Had Socrates, for godlike virtue famed,
And wisest of the sons of men proclaim'd,
Beheld this scene of phrensy and distress,
His soul had trembled to its last recess !
Oh yet confirm my heart, ye powers above,
This last tremendous shock of fate to prove;
The tottering frame of reason yet sustain!
Nor let this total ruin whirl my brain!
In vain the chords and axes were prepared,
For now th' audacious seas insult the yard;
High o'er the ship they throw a horrid shade,
And o'er her burst in terrible cascade.
Uplifted on the surge, to heaven she flies,
Her shatter'd top half buried in the skies,
Then, headlong plunging, thunders on the ground.
Earth groans! air trembles! and the deeps resound!
Her giant bulk the dread concussion feels,
And, quivering with the wound, in torment reels.
So reels, convulsed with agonizing throes,
The bleeding bull beneath the murd'rer's blows.
Again she plunges! hark! a second shock
Tears her strong bottom on the marble rock!
Down on the vale of death, with dismal cries,
The fated victims, shuddering, roll their eyes
In wild despair, while yet another stroke,
With deep convulsion, rends the solid oak:
Till like the mine, in whose infernal cell
The lurking demons of destruction dwell,
At length, asunder torn, her frame divides,
And. crashing, spreads in ruin o'er the tides.
As o'er the surge the stooping mainmast hung,
Still on the rigging thirty seamen clung:
Some, struggling, on a broken crag were cast,
And there, by oozy tangles, grappled fast :
A while they bore th' o'erwhelming billows' rage,
Unequal combat with their fate to wage;
Till, all benumb'd and feeble, they forego
Their slippery hold, and sink to shades below.
HAIL, beauteous stranger of the grove!
Thou messenger of spring!
Now Heaven repairs thy rural seat,
And woods thy welcome sing.
What time the daisy decks the green,
Thy certain voice we hear;
Hast thou a star to guide thy path,
Or mark the rolling year!
Delightful visitant! with thee
I hail the time of flowers,
And hear the sound of music sweet
From birds among the bowers.
The schoolboy, wandering through the wood
To pull the primrose gay,
Starts, the new voice of Spring to hear,
And imitates thy lay.
What time the pea puts on the bloom,
Thou fliest thy vocal vale,
An annual guest in other lands,
Another Spring to hail.
Sweet bird! thy bower is ever green,
Thy sky is ever clear;
Thou hast no sorrow in thy song,
No winter in thy year!
Oh, could I fly, I'd fly with thee!
We'd make, with joyful wing,
Our annual visit o'er the globe,
Companions of the Spring.
Har. 'Tis midnight dark: 'tis silence deep,
My father's house is hush'd in sleep;
In dreams the lover meets his bride,
She sees her lover at her side;
The mourner's voice is now suppress'd,
A while the weary are at rest:
"Tis midnight dark; 'tis silence deep;
I only wake, and wake to weep.
The window's drawn, the ladder waits,
I spy no watchman at the gates;
No tread re-echoes through the hall,
No shadow moves along the wall.
I am alone. "Tis dreary night,
Oh come, thou partner of my flight!
Shield me from darkness, from alarms;
Oh, take me trembling to thine arms!
The dog howls dismal in the heath,
The raven croaks the dirge of death;
Ah me! disaster's in the sound!
The terrors of the night are round;
A sad mischance my fears forebode,
The demon of the dark's abroad,
And lures, with apparition dire,
The night-struck man through flood and fire.
The owlet screams ill-boding sounds,
The spirit walks unholy rounds;
The wizard's hour eclipsing rolls,
The shades of hell usurp the poles;
The moon retires; the heaven departs;
From opening earth a spectre starts:
My spirit dies-Away, my fears,
My love, my life, my lord appears!
Hen. I come, I come, my love! my life!
And nature's dearest name, my wife!
Long have I loved thee; long have sought;
And dangers braved, and battles fought;
In this embrace our evils end,
From this our better days ascend;
The year of suffering now is o'er,
At last we meet to part no more.
My lovely bride! my consort, come!
The rapid chariot rolls thee home.
Har. I fear to go-I dare not stay. Look back-I dare not look that way.
Hen. No evil ever shall betide My love, while I am at her side. Lo! thy protector and thy friend,
The arms that fold thee will defend.
Har. Still beats my bosom with alarms: I tremble while I'm in thy arms. What will impassion'd lovers do? What have I done-to follow you? I leave a father torn with fears;
I leave a mother bathed in tears;
A brother, girding on his sword,
Against my life, against my lord.
Now, without father, mother, friend,
On thee my future days depend;
Wilt thou, for ever true to love,
A father, mother, brother prove?
Oh Henry! to thy arms I fall,
My friend! my husband! and my all!
Alas! what hazards may I run?
Shouldst thou forsake me-I'm undone.
Hen. My Harriet, dissipate thy fears,
And let a husband wipe thy tears;
For ever join'd our fates combine,
And I am yours and you are mine.
The fires the firmament that rend,
On this devoted head descend,
If e'er in thought from thee I rove,
Or love thee less than now I love!
Although our fathers have been foes,
From hatred stronger, love arose;
From adverse briers that threat'ning stood,
And threw a horror o'er the wood,
Two lovely roses met on high,
Transplanted to a better sky;
And, grafted in one stock, they grow,
In union spring, in beauty blow.
Har. My heart believes my love; but still
My boding mind presages ill:
For luckless ever was our love,
Dark as the sky that hung above.
While we embraced, we shook with fears,
And with our kisses mingled tears;
We met with murmurs and with sighs,
And parted still with watery eyes.