THE OLD FISHERMAN.

‘ My bosom is chill'd with the cold,

My limbs their lost vigour deplore!

Alas! to the lonely and old,

Hope warbles her promise no more!

‘ Worn out with the length of my way,

I must rest me awhile on the beach,

To feel the salt dash of the spray,

If haply so far it may reach.

‘ As the white-foaming billows arise,

I reflect on the days that are past,

When the pride of my strength could despise

The keen-driving force of the blast.

‘ Though the heavens might menace on high,

I would still push my vessel from shore;

At my calling undauntedly ply,

And sing as I handled the oar.

‘ When fortune rewarded my toil,

And my nets, deeply-laden, I drew,

I hurried me home with the spoil,

And its inmates rejoic'd at the view.

‘ Though the winds and the waves were perverse,

I was sure to be welcom'd with glee;

My presence the cares would disperse,

That were only awaken'd for me.

‘ Whether weary, with toiling in vain,

Or gay, from abundant success,

I heard the same blessing again,—

I met the same tender caress:

‘ I fancied the perils repay'd,

That could such affection ensure;

By fondness and gratitude sway'd,

I was eager to dare and endure.

‘ My cot did each comfort contain,

And that gave my bosom delight;

When drench'd by the winterly rain,

I watch'd in my vessel at night.

‘ But, alas! from the tyrant, Disease,

What love or what caution can save!

A fever, more harsh than the seas,

Consign'd my poor wife to the grave.

‘ My children, so tenderly rear'd,

And pining for want of her care,

Though more by my sorrows endear'd,

Could not rescue my heart from despair.

‘ I tempted the dangers of night,

And still labour'd hard at the oar,

My sufferings appear'd to be light,

But I suffer'd with pleasure no more.

‘ And yet, when some seasons had roll'd,

I seem'd to awaken anew;

My children I lov'd to behold,

How tall and how comely they grew.

‘ My boy became hardy and bold,

His spirit was buoyant and free;

And, as I grew thoughtful and old,

Was loud and oppressive to me.

‘ But the girl, like a bird in the bower,

Awaken'd my hope and my pride;

She won on my heart ev'ry hour,

And I could not the preference hide.

‘ I mark'd the address and the care,

The manner endearing and mild,

Not dreaming those qualities rare

Were to murther the peace of my child:

‘ That grandeur would ever descend

To seek for so lowly a bride,

Or his fair one, a lover pretend,

From all she held dear to divide:

‘ That beauty was priz'd like a gem,

Expected to dazzle and shine,

Whose value the world would contemn,

Unless trac'd to some Indian mine:

‘ Alas! hapless girl! had I known

Thou hadst learnt to repine at thy lot;

That splendour and rank were thy own,

Thy home and thy father forgot:

‘ That lore and ambition assail'd,

Thou hadst left us, whatever befel!

My pardon and prayers had prevail'd,

I had blest thee, and bade thee farewel!

‘ With thy husband, from this happy clime,

I had seen thee for ever depart!

Still hoping affection and time

Might soften the pride of his heart:

‘ That a moment perhaps would arise,

When, fondling a child on the knee,

He might read, in its innocent eyes

A lesson of pity for me.

‘ But lips, which till then never said

A word to cause any one pain,

Inform'd me, when reason had fled,

Of a conflict it could not sustain.

‘ And he, who had wish'd to conceal

That the woman he lov'd had been poor,

Began all his folly to feel,

When the victim could hearken no more.

‘ Yet still for himself did he mourn,

And, indignant, I fled from the view:

For my wrongs were not easily borne,

And my anger was hard to subdue.

‘ One prop, one sole comfort, remain'd,

Who saw me o'erladen with grief,

Who saw ( though I never complain'd )

My heart was too sick for relief.

‘ One, who always attentive and dear,

Every effort exerted to please,

My desolate prospect to cheer,

To study my health and my ease.

‘ For his was each toil and each care,

The due observations to keep;

To sit watching amid the night air,

And fancy his father asleep.

‘ Yet, dejected, and sadly forlorn,

I dar'd in my heart to repine,—

To lament that I ever was born,

Though such worth and affection were mine.

‘ Alas! I was destin'd to know,

However intense my despair,

I still was reserv'd for a blow,

More painful and cruel to bear.

‘ Yes! this only one fell in the main!

— I eagerly struggled to save;

But I strove with the current in vain,

And saw him sink under the wave!

‘ My head was astounded and wild,—

Incessant I roam'd on the shore,

To seek the dead corse of my child,

And to weep on his bosom once more.

‘ Seven days undisturb'd was the sky,

The eighth was a tempest most drear,

I saw the huge billow rise high!

I saw my lost treasure appear!

‘ Like a dream it seem'd passing away:—

I hurried me onward to meet,

And clasp the inanimate clay,

When senseless I sunk at his feet.

‘ These hands, now enfeebled by time,

The last pious offices paid!

Age sorrow'd o'er youth in its prime,

And my boy near his mother was laid.

‘ Now scar'd by the griefs I have known,

Wounds, apathy only can heal,

My joys and my sorrows are flown,

For I have forgotten to feel.

‘ But I know my Creator is just,

That his hand will deliver me soon;

I have learnt to submit and to trust,

Though I finish my journey alone.’