Immagini della pagina
PDF
ePub

5.
The wind is piping on our beam-it freshens to a gale ;
Cheer up! the Lily loves the storm, spare not an inch of sail ;
I'm prouder here her course to steer, and feel her 'neath me spring,
Than that I were a belted earl, or an anointed king !

6.
But Bembridge ledge we've weather'd close, and bright before us spread
There's many a gallant ship, I ween, hard anchor'd at Spithead.
Proud tamers of the subject sea! my heart leaps up in ide
As your stately shadows come and go upon the weltering tide.

7.
Your flag has waved in every clime ;—where, wafted many a mile,
Comes the sweet scent of summer flowers from some fair Indian isle ;
It waved where chilly icebergs float ʼmid Greenland's ceaseless surge,
And where the tortured Baltic howls 'neath Winter's icy scourge.

8. Pour'd

ye

the thunder of your power where bold St Vincent led ?
Was yours the might that crown'd with light intrepid Rodney's head ?
Was yours the rush of mighty wings that sounded through the sky,
When Nelson gave to Trafalgar the name that cannot die ?

9. Athwart the brine, in snowy line, on, on my Lily flies, Oh! not more stately bounds the deer where Athole's forests riseThe harbour's mouth we've gain’d, my lads! down canvass ! bear a hand; Quick ! slack the sheets !-she touches now!-I spring on Portsmouth strand!

TRIP THE SECOND.

Wherein the Lily proceedeth in quest of what seemed from the Shore to be a

Shipwrecked Mariner.

1. All day a silence stern and deep

Hath lain on land and sea ; Ye may not hear a rustle creep

Through leafiest bush or tree; The anchor'd vessels seem asleep,

So motionless they be.

4.
In Bonchurch bay the flowing tide

Is calm as inland lake;
In Ventnor cove the waters glide

Without a heave or break;
There's not a breath in Sandown wide

Its sleeping might to wake.

2. There's not a cloud in all the sky,

The sun shines bright and clear;
Hour after hour goes fleeting by,

And yet no sound ye hear;
Hush'd and expectant earth doth

lie
As some dread thing were near.

5. Round Rocken End, from Chale's far

shore, The horrid sound is borne ; Well know the seamen from the roar,

'Twill be a gale ere morn: Hoist every sail ! ply every oar !

Such warning none may scorn.

3.

6. Night comes and with mysterious The tempest downward rush'd at last, sound,

Like eagle on its prey ; While not a wave is stirr'd,

And struck the sea with pinions vast, There rises in the calm profound, And shouted as in play, As by enchanter's word,

As the big waves

rose wild and A voice, as if the storm unbound

fast, In howling rage were heard.

And terror mark'd his way.

a mile

17.

7.

14. The moon rose up at midnight hour, There's something moves And shed a feeble light;

from land The darksome waters scorn'd her It welters o'er the flood; power

'Tis a wreck'd man ! he waves his In their tumultuous fight

hand! Save where, like beacon from a tower, He floats on log of wood ! She shed a streak of light

Quick! launch the Lily down the

strand!
8.

Heed not the breakers rude.
A narrow streak of ghastly grey
Athwart the weltering deep :-

15. Oh God! there's something takes its The Lily through the breakers flies, way,

By four stout oarsmen plied; With wild unsteady leap,

And, watch'd by many glistening eyes, Across that line, where breakers play She gambols o'er the tide: And mountain billows sweep. But the floating man doth hardly rise, 9.

So high the billows glide. A moment seen; but the shadows

16. dark

'Tis not a man-'tis tall and hardThat brood on either side,

And now we near it fast;
Suddenly swallow'd up the bark,
And she no more is spied-

'Tis but the end of a broken yard,

Or the fragment of a mast; No ear, no eye her course to mark

And so, with ropes our prize to guard, On the stormy waters wide !

To leeward we have pass'd.
10.
God help you, gallant mariners !
Your bark can hardly rise,

Our lines we fix'd; we tugg'd and

tow'd, Dash'd by each billow as it rears

But toil was all our meed; Its crest of giant size:

The tide, that still impetuous flow'd, Your masts are gone-no helmsman

Scarce help'd us in our need steers

It seem'd as if a weary load All like a log she lies.

Repress'd us in our speed. 11.

18. That night my straw-roof'd cottage

A weary load, as if of lead, shook Beneath the tempest's blows ;

Or some unholy thing, The stately elms that guard my

Some sunken vessel, where the dead

nook Crash'd as it wilder rose

Lay heap'd in ghastly ring: And the chafed sea leapt, as it could

For at every tug the tall mast sway'd,

But ever firm did cling. not brook The barrier of Dunnose.

19.

It dipt, it bent, but upward still 12.

Sprang back with horrid bound, Up the tall cliff it strove to climb, And backward fell in rage,

Spite of our utmost strength and skill

We could not force it round, Like tiger gaunt in wrath sublime

And at last beneath the Culver hill That beats against its cage,

Our prize did take the ground. And leaps and howls, till conquering Time

20. Doth his wild ire assuage.

Eight fathoms deep the water lay,

And yet our prize stuck fast 13. So ceased the sea. When morning

The tide had slack'd within the bay,

And westward now it pass'd, shone

And at each new foot it ebb’d away, The sky was calm and clear ;

Still higher tower'd the mast.
But the wild waves kept tumbling on
In their quick and fierce career;

21. For though the tempest's voice was

The waves sank down, and soon apgone, His might seem'd waiting near. A topsail fully set;

pear'd

And down, far down, as the water That mast with all its panoply clear'd,

Had with the billows leapt. Our eyes a vision met

23. As of a mainsail, which uprear'd

It was a piteous sight, I ween; Its swelling canvass yet!

For well we guess'd the fate 22.

Of the brave ship, where it once had The ropes hung loose, the shrouds

been hung free,

So stately and elate ; But the yards their place had kept, And with sad hearts from that dismal And thus beneath that stormy sea, As if above it swept,

The Lily bore us straight.

scene

TRIP THE THIRD. Wherein the Lily coasteth five miles to the Westward, and cometh home again. 1.

Where dewless night A Light south wind is blowing

Was clear and bright, This gentle summer day ;

And great stars look'd down from And the tide is hardly flowing

heav'n
O'er the pebbles in the bay. Such climate, pensive Mary,
The sunshine bright

Is not to England given.
Sheds holy light

6. On mount and down and lea;

Yet here, in these recesses, Come hither, little Mary,

Where the east wind never blows; And sail an hour with me!

And the high north Down represses 2.

December and his snows; How slowly now we're sliding

In Ventnor glade Beneath the chalky height,

In Bonchurch shade And the Lily, ghostlike gliding,

How soft the Autumn air! Seems filld with calm delight.

And there's many a Summer blossom
The tall cliffs throw

In Winter's tangled hair.
Their shade below

7. On all the rocky strand

We've glided past St Lawrence, And we float within the shadow

And to Puckaster we steer; As we creep along the land. Proud Genoa! lovely Florence! 3.

We match your beauties here !

Our course we stay See, Highport Ledge we've rounded,

To scan the bay, And the Cow-Leaze heave in sight,

And the flush of foliage deep, Fantastically mounded,

That spreads a fitting umbrage
And glistening in the light;

For some sainted hermit's sleep.
Their grassy dells
And verdant swells

8. In this sweet summer prime

Now mark, my silent Mary, 'Tis a lovely scene, my Mary,

As the helm's aside inclined,

The boat its motion vary As 'twere a fairy clime.

As she falls off from the wind; 4.

The light breeze błowsThere's many a southern islet

The Lily goes Round which 'twere bliss to sail,

With a step as soft and slow, And our idle course to pilot,

As the mystic shapes in cloudland, From noon till twilight pale ;

That flit dimly to and fro.
Where spreading bloom

9.
And rich perfume
From flow'rs of every hue,

Again we're eastward veering,

Where calm St Lawrence lies,
Fill'd the air with balm and beauty
Such as England never knew.

Like some quiet nest appearing

Where the bird for safety flies ; 5.

See Ventnor spire, What joy 'twould be, my daughter, 'Tis tipt with fire Beneath that dazzling moon,

In the sun's unclouded ray ; To thread each winding water, And again Highport we've rounded, And trace each deep lagoon ?

And cast anchor in the bay.

TRIP THE FOURTH.

Wherein the Lily visiteth a stranded Ship.

1. The cheeriest spot in all the earth,

The happiest nook of all to me,
Is by mine own familiar hearth,

When storms are on the sea.
Loud let the tempests howl, we give no heed-
No argosies are ours propitious gales to need.

2.
The sea sings gloriously for aye

Its own wild triumph song of pow'r ;
Tempest or calm it knows no stay,

Mid-day nor midnight hour:
In the great voice we live-it girds us round
As doth the vital air-an atmosphere of sound.

3.
It seems as if it fill'd my heart;

For if, perchance, I inland roam,
Never one moment will depart

That glorious voice of home-
My spirit is subdued by it; I crave
Needful as food or rest that murmuring of the wave.

4.
Ye dwellers by the silent lakes,

Where the dull waters lifeless lie,
And when the wind its fury wakes

Utter no sound nor cry-
Speak they their rage in thunder? and their glee
In passionate laughter hoarse, like the rejoicing sea ?

5.
With life, with soul the sea is fraught-

I've seen its countenance grow dim,
Darken’d by some most cruel thought,

As might some tyrant's grim-
Some Alva, when the shape of murder first
O'ershadow'd his pale cheek, as from his heart it burst.

6.
In its fierce joy it seems to scoff ;

When its quick ear hath caught the roar Of battling hurricanes far off

On mid-Atlantic's floor, It feels the stormy tremor of their wrath, And rears its crested waves ere yet they've cross'd its path.

7. Sleep on, the sated serpent falls,

And sleep falls on the wearied main ; And though the wind its challenge calls,

It answers not again : 'Neath the high shadowing ledge it loves to lie, And on the rock-strewn shore waves sing its lullaby.

8. One night, on its uneasy bed,

Our ocean grimly slept and heaved ;
And o'er its clammy face was spread

A mist, so thickly weaved
Ye could not pierce its woof—it cover'd all,
As Ocean had been dead, and this had been its pall,

9. I sat within my chimney nook,

With a bright fire-of books a store ; A man rush'd in, with startled look

A great ship's come ashore ! Close to the cliff she lies--we heard the sound, As 'mid the rocks she came, and now she's fast aground !”

10. « Rouse Bonchurch up!--no moment waste

Bring lights,” I cried, " and man the boat!"
And down I rush'd in breathless haste-

The Lily rock'd afloat !
Six gallant lads jump'd in, and round she few,
Piercing the vapoury mist, and instant hid from view.

11. Impetuous o'er the shingly beach

I struggled onward to Dunnose,
And strain'd my eyes the ship to reach,

But not an object rose-
And yet so close she lay, we heard the sound
Of seamen's trampling feet winding the capstan round.

12.
Voices we heard, but nought we saw,

So thick the mist around her fell ;
It fill'd our beating hearts with awe,

For soon we mark'd full well
The tide was ebbing fast ;-and there she lay,
By rocks encompassid round, to wait the coming day.

13. If but a ripple lightly rise

If but the gentlest south wind blow;
In that same hour a wreck she lies,

Down the brave ship must go!
But hark! the boat has near'd her, shouts we hear,
Our men have reach'd the deck, and see, it ’gins to clear !

14.
Slowly, like mighty curtain raised

To give some dreaded thing to view,
Uprose the mist; and, as we gazed,

Clearer and clearer grew
The outline of a vessel, looming vast,
With all her canvass set, with sails on every mast.

15.
Like phantom of a ship it seems,

Draped in its solemn mist and cloud ;
How glimmer 'neath the lanthorn's gleams

White sail and dripping shroud !
But lo! like spectre pale, that mocks our fears,
It folds its mantle round, and slowly disappears.

16.
All night the Lily round her plied,

To aid that vessel in her need-
Six gallants staid on board, and vied

In zeal and perilous deed-
Toiling to warp her off, to clear the sails,
Aiding the o'erwearied crew-but nought their strength avails.

17. Next morning, when the early sun

Did first Dunnose's summit tip,

« IndietroContinua »