The maiden heard, but never stirred
Her gaze from the beacon lamp;
Her heart alone felt a sepulchre stone
Roll up to it heavy and damp.

A grey-haired mariner looked around,"Here's a wind," cried he;

"May GOD preserve the homeward bound; 'Tis a wild night at sea!"

The maiden heard, yet never stirred eyes from the distant part;

Her

But shadow was thrown upon the stone,
And the stone was over her heart.

The lightning blades fenced fierce and long,
The blast-wings madly flew;

But morning came, with the skylark's song,
And an arch of spotless blue.

Morning came with a tale too true,

As sad as tale could be;

"A homeward bound went down with her crew

'Twas a wild night at sea!"

The maiden heard, yet never stirred,

Nor eye, nor lip, nor brow;

But moss had grown on the sepulchre stone,

And it covered a skeleton now.

DESPAIR OF A SAILOR'S DAUGHTER.

Summer and winter came and went

With their frosty and flowery time: Autumn branches lusciously bent,

And spring-buds had their prime.

The maiden still is in her home,
But not a word breathes she,

Save those that sealed her spirit's doom—

267

ELIZA COOK.

DESPAIR OF A SAILOR'S DAUGHTER.

ANOTHER day, another night are gone,
A second passes and a third wanes on.
So long she paced the shore,

So often on the beach she took her stand,
That the wild sea-birds knew her, and no more
Fled when she passed beside them on the strand.
Bright shone the golden summits in the light
Of the noon-sun, and lovelier far by night
Their moonlight glories o'er the sea they shed,
Fair is the dark-green deep, by night and day,
Unvexed with storms the peaceful billows play,
As when they closed upon Ladurlad's head;
The firmament above is bright and clear;
The sea-fowl, lords of water, air, and land,
Joyous alike upon the wing appear,

Or when they ride the waves, or walk the sand,

Beauty and light and joy are every where;
There is no sadness and no sorrow here,

Save what that single human breast contains, But oh! what hopes, and fears, and pains are there!

Seven miserable days the expectant maid, From earliest dawn till evening, watched the shore; Hope left her then; and in her heart she said, Never should she behold her father more.

SOUTHEY.

THE HOPELESS MANIAC.

THE Common, overgrown with fern, and rough
With prickly gorse, that, shapeless and deformed
And dangerous to the touch, has yet its bloom,
And decks itself with ornaments of gold,-
Yields no unpleasing ramble; there the turf
Smells fresh, and, rich in odoriferous herbs
And fungous fruits of earth, regales the sense
With luxury of unexpected sweets.
There often wanders one, whom better days
Saw better clad, in cloak of satin trimmed
With lace, and hat with splendid riband bound.
A serving maid was she, and fell in love
With one who left her, went to sea, and died.
Her fancy followed him through foaming waves
To distant shores, and she would sit and weep
At what a sailor suffers; fancy, too,

THE MANIAC'S HOPE.

Delusive most where warmest wishes are,
Would oft anticipate his glad return,

269

And dream of transports she was not to know.
She heard the doleful tidings of his death—
And never smiled again! and now she roams
The dreary waste; there spends the livelong day;
And there, unless when charity forbids,

The livelong night. A tattered apron hides,
Worn as a cloak, and hardly hides, a gown
More tattered still; and both but ill conceal
A bosom heaved with never ceasing sighs.
She begs an idle pin of all she meets,

And hoards them in her sleeve; but needful food,— Though pressed with hunger oft, or comelier clothes,

Though pinched with cold,-asks never:-Kate is

crazed.

COWPER.

THE MANIAC'S HOPE.

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 Watched the rude surge his shroudless corse that bore,

Knew the pale form, and, shrieking in amaze,

Clasped her cold hands, and fixed her maddening

gaze:

Poor widowed wretch! 'twas there she wept in

vain,

Till memory fled her agonising 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 climbed 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
That constant love can linger on the deep.

CAMPBELL.

A MARINER'S WIFE.

"Aн me, my dream!" pale Helen cried, With hectic cheeks aglow;

"Why wake me? Hide that cruel beam! I'll not win such another dream

On this side heaven I know.

"I almost feel the leaping waves,
The wet spray on my hair,

The salt breeze singing in the sail,
The kind arms, strong as iron mail,

That held me safely there.