BOWLES.

Once more to daily toil — once more to wear

The weeds of infamy — from every joy

The heart can feel excluded, I arise

Worn out and faint with unremitting woe;

And once again with wearied steps I trace

The hollow-sounding shore. The swelling waves

Gleam to the morning sun, and dazzle o'er

With many a splendid hue the breezy strand.

Oh there was once a time when ELINOR

Gazed on thy opening beam with joyous eye

Undimm'd by guilt and grief! when her full soul

Felt thy mild radiance, and the rising day

Waked but to pleasure! on thy sea-girt verge

Oft England! have my evening steps stole on,

Oft have mine eyes surveyed the blue expanse,

And mark'd the wild wind swell the ruffled surge,

And seen the upheaved billows bosomed rage

Rush on the rock; and then my timid soul

Shrunk at the perils of the boundless deep,

And heaved a sigh for suffering mariners.

Ah! little deeming I myself was doom'd.

To tempt the perils of the boundless deep,

An Outcast — unbeloved and unbewail'd.

Why stern Remembrance! must thine iron hand

Harrow my soul? why calls thy cruel power

The fields of England to my exil'd eyes,

The joys which once were mine? even now I see

The lowly lovely dwelling! even now

Behold the woodbine clasping its white walls

And hear the fearless red-breasts chirp around

To ask their morning meal:— for I was wont

With friendly band to give their morning meal,

Was wont to love their song, when lingering morn

Streak'd o'er the chilly landskip the dim light,

And thro’ the open'd lattice hung my head

To view the snow-drop's bud: and thence at eve

When mildly fading sunk the summer sun,

Oft have I loved to mark the rook's slow course

And hear his hollow croak, what time he sought

The church-yard elm, whose wide-embowering boughs

Full foliaged, half conceal'd the house of God.

There, my dead father! often have I heard

Thy hallowed voice explain the wonderous works

Of Heaven to sinful man. Ah! little deem'd

Thy virtuous bosom, that thy shameless child

So soon should spurn the lesson! sink the slave

Of Vice and Infamy! the hireling prey

Of brutal appetite! at length worn out

With famine, and the avenging scourge of guilt,

Should dare dishonesty — yet dread to die!

Welcome ye savage lands, ye barbarous climes,

Where angry England sends her outcast sons —

I hail your joyless shores! my weary bark

Long tempest-tost on Life's inclement sea,

Here hails her haven! welcomes the drear scene,

The marshy plain, the briar-entangled wood,

And all the perils of a world unknown.

For Elinor has nothing new to fear

From fickle Fortune! all her rankling shafts

Barb'd with disgrace, and venom'd with disease.

Have pierced my bosom, and the dart of death

Has lost its terrors to a wretch like me.

Welcome ye marshy heaths! ye pathless woods,

Where the rude native rests his wearied frame

Beneath the sheltering shade; where, when the storm,

As rough and bleak it rolls along the sky,

Benumbs his naked limbs, he flies to seek

The dripping shelter. Welcome ye wild plains

Unbroken by the plough, undelv'd by hand

Of patient rustic; where for lowing herds,

And for the music of the bleating flocks,

Alone is heard the kangaroo's sad note

Deepening in distance. Welcome ye rude climes,

The realm of Nature! for as yet unknown

The crimes and comforts of luxurious life,

Nature benignly gives to all enough,

Denies to all a superfluity,

What tho’ the garb of infamy I wear,

Tho’ day by day along the echoing beach

I cull the wave-worn shells, yet day by day

I earn in honesty my frugal food,

And lay me down at night to calm repose.

No more condemn'd the mercenary tool

Of brutal lust, while heaves the indignant heart

With Virtue's stiffled sigh, to fold my arms

Round the rank felon, and for daily bread

To hug contagion to my poison'd breast;

On these wild shores Repentance’ saviour hand

Shall probe my secret soul, shall cleanse its wounds

And fit the faithful penitent for Heaven.