Hark! the wild maniac sings, to chide the gale That wafts so slow her lover's distant sail; She, sad spectatress, on the wintry shore Watch'd the rude surge his shroudless corse that bore, Knew the pale form, and, shrieking in amaze, 4 Clasp'dher cold hands, and fix'd her maddening gaze: Poor widow'd wretch! 'twas there she wept in vain, Till memory fled her agonizing brain : But Mercy gave, to charm the sense of woe, Ideal peace, that Truth could ne'er bestow; Warm on her heart the joys of Fancy beam, And aimless HOPE delights her darkest dream. Oft when yon moon has climb'd the midnight sky, And the lone sea-bird wakes its wildest cry, Piled on the steep, her blazing faggots burn To hail the bark that never can return; And still she waits, but scarce forbears to weep And, mark the wretch, whose wanderings never knew Th' unfeeling proud one looks-and passes by; Where, round the cot's romantic glade are seen Leans o'er its humble gate, and thinks the while Health in the breeze, and shelter in the storm! That generous wish can sooth unpitied care, HOPE! when I mourn, with sympathizing mind, The wrongs of fate, the woes of human kind, Thy blissful omens bid my spirit see The boundless fields of rapture yet to be; |