Classic Poem

The morn was fair, and fresh the breeze
That curled the waters as it blew,
When up rose Basil with the lark;
On the broad wave his slender bark
He launched, and o'er the crisp wave flew.

He sung and trimmed his little sail,
He plied his oar both fast and strong;
And soon there came a sweeping gale,
It came, it filled his little sail,
And swiftly flew the boat along.

Then o'er the lake he steered, to gain
The creek upon the southern side;
And on that side his nets he cast,
For there, defended from the blast,
He thought his boat might safely ride.

But who is she in Basil's cot
Who sits so sad with folded arms,
Who from the window now looks out,
Now paces all the room about,
Whose face is full of her alarms?

And who but Rachel may it be?
Who may it be but Basil's wife?
The winds her cottage window shake,
Loud howls the storm along the lake,
And Rachel fears for Basil's life.

And now she calls her little child,
She calls her little daughter Jane;
And “haste thee,” cries she, “to the lake;
And round thee thy close kirtle take,
For fast drives down the pelting rain.....

Oh haste thee, daughter, to the lake,
And look around if thou canst spy
Thy father's sail upon the wave;
And stand beneath the arching cave,
For there the bank is safe though high.

But, Jane, I charge thee, do not climb
That crag which hangs above the lake;
That rock is straight, its verge is steep,
The waters all beneath are deep;
Jane, go not thither for my sake.”

Now Jane is gone to look around
If she her father's sail may spy;
And all alone her mother sits,
And looks around, and starts by fits,
As howls the tempest through the sky.

Then Rachel at her loom sat down,
Her solitary task to ply;
But soon she started from the loom,
And, restless, paced about the room,
And looked abroad with anxious eye.

Strange sounds, the creatures of her fears,
Swelled every rising gust of wind;
And in the roaring tempest's breath
She seemed to hear the voice of Death,
And strongest terrors shook her mind.

And Rachel long remained alone,
With fear, suspense, and anguish wild;
And as the painful moments flew,
Her fears with every moment grew,
Nor yet returned her darling child.

“Ah, wretch! in such a storm as this
Why sent I forth my little Jane?
Loud, loud and fearful is the blast,
And keen and cold; and driving fast,
And pelting hard descends the rain.

What if her heedless feet should stray
Towards the steep rock's slippery verge!
What if, bewildered with affright,
My darling from that dreadful height
Should fall into the heaving surge!”

Thus felt the mother; and these thoughts
Almost to madness fired her brain;
Her fears poor Rachel would have hushed,
But loud they cried, and forth she rushed
Amid the storm to seek her Jane.

Scarce did she breathe as on she ran,
And down the cottage path she flew;
And now through mingling mist and rain
She sees her little darling Jane,
And tears of joy her cheek bedew.

And now she is with her, and now
She throws her arms the child around,
Now runs on that side, now on this,
And Rachel in her present bliss
Forgets that Basil is not found.

“Where hast thou been, my darling Jane?
Hast thou looked o'er the lake, to spy
Thy father's sail upon the wave?
Hast thou stood near the arching cave,
There, where the bank is safe though high?”

Then thus made answer little Jane,
“Oh mother, on that little mound
I stood, close by the arching cave,
I saw the dashing of the wave,
It foamed and raged as I looked round;

I held me by the rock and looked,
Nothing but water could I see,
Cold in my face did come the blast,
And in my eyes the rain so fast
Was driven, it almost blinded me.

And now they to the cottage come,
And Jane before the fire is placed;
Now Rachel's joy is calmer grown,
She muses....Now her joy is flown,
By all her former terrors chased.

The little Jane looked up, she turned
Up to her mother's face her look;
And, while her mother sighed and wept,
Close to her side her darling crept,
Still looking up, her hand she took.

“Mother, dear mother! cease to weep!
My father will return anon,
At eve he'll come: beyond the lake
He waits secure, or else to take
His fish to market he is gone.”

Oh, comfort is a blessed thing!
It falls upon the mind like dew;
This simple speech of little Jane
Gave peace to Rachel's tortured brain,
And bade her smile serene anew.

Now less the tempest raged; yet still
The winds sighed on with sinking sound;
And now behind the waving wood
The angry sun went down like blood,
And threw a dismal gleam around.

And now behind the waving wood
At length expire his last red rays;
And bright the crackling faggots burn
For Basil when he shall return;
His cottage glows with cheerful blaze.

“Oh, Mother!” said the anxious Jane,
“He surely will return ere long....
Yes; soon my father I shall see,
And, while he smiles, upon his knee
I'll sit, and sing my artless song.”

Now Rachel talks in cheerful guise,
And smiles, her little child to cheer,
Yet at each sound she turns her head,
And hopes she hears her husband's tread,
She struggles hardly with her fears.

'Tis dark, and still no Basil comes,
How fares the wretched Rachel now!
How may she cheer her drooping child!
(Herself with dread and anguish wild)
How may she smile! give comfort how!

Around her child her arms she threw,
Her warm tears on her child's face dropped;
And close she strained her to her breast,
Her voice by anguish was supprest,
Her breath by rising sobs was stopped.

At length....“Oh, Basil! wast thou here!
Wast thou but here!” at length she cried,
“Oh might I hear thy feet once more
Approaching to thy cottage door,
Or see thee sitting by my side!

Oh couldst thou hear me! but thy ears
Perhaps are deaf to human cry.
E'en now, while thus I sit and weep,
O'er thee some whelming wave may sweep,
And cold and breathless thou may'st lie.

Perhaps, thy little boat o'erset,
E'en now thou strivest with the wave:
Thou may'st be struggling near the rock
Where the steep banks thy efforts mock,
Where still some friendly hand might save.”

As real Rachel's terrors paint
The thoughts that flit across her brain:
No force might hold her, forth she springs;
Those thoughts of horror lend her wings;
Alone she leaves her little Jane.

Down to the lake she goes....The wind
Yet murmurs though the storm is o'er.
Sounds of strange import swell the breeze,
As wild it murmurs through the trees,
Still the subsiding waters roar.

Thick clouds sail sullenly along;
And how may Rachel keep her way!
Unless some star with faint green light
Shines glimmering through the gloomy night,
Or the moon lends a transient ray.

Thick clouds sail on....On Rachel goes;
Nothing may turn her from her way;
Whether 'tis dark, or with green light
Some dim star glimmers through the night,
Or the moon lends a transient ray.

Up springs a breeze; the clouds sail on,
Fast o'er the face of heaven they fly,
Swiftly they fly, and bright and clear
Between the sparkling stars appear;
The shining moon looks from the sky.

And who is she that on the rock
With hurrying pace runs to and fro?
And now she stands, fixed in one spot;
And o'er the lake her eye is shot,
Her face the moon-beams plainly show.

What may it be that rocks, and heaves
With gulphing sound? It holds her eye....
Is that her Basil's shattered boat?
Are those his oars that near it float?
If not, ah why that piercing cry?

Heard you that shriek? heard you that plunge?
Heard you?....And yet you could not save!
And when the morrow's sun shall gleam,
Shall the first form that meets his beam
Be Rachel breathless on the wave!

Long, long the little Jane may sit
And listen at the cottage door;
She shall but hear the night-wind's sigh,
She shall but hear the owlet's cry,
Or distant torrent's sullen roar.
Long may she for her father look,
And long her mother hope to see;
But all that meets her longing sight
Shall be some star's pale glimmering light,
Or half-seen shape of waving tree.