In slumbers of midnight the sailor-boy lay;
— His hammock swung loose at the sport of the wind;
But watch-worn and weary, his cares flew away,
— And visions of happiness danced o'er his mind.
He dreamed of his home, of his dear native bowers,
— And pleasures that waited on life's merry morn;
While Memory stood sideways, half covered with flowers,
— And restored every rose, but secreted its thorn.
Then Fancy her magical pinions spread wide,
— And bade the young dreamer in ecstasy rise;
Now far, far behind him the green waters glide,
— And the cot of his forefathers blesses his eyes.
The jessamine clambers in flowers o'er the thatch,
— And the swallow sings sweet from her nest in the wall;
All trembling with transport he raises the latch,
— And the voices of loved ones reply to his call.
A father bends o'er him with looks of delight;
— His cheek is impearled with a mother's warm tear;
And the lips of the boy in a love-kiss unite
— With the lips of the maid whom his bosom holds dear.
The heart of the sleeper beats high in his breast;
— Joy quickens his pulses, his hardships seem o'er;
And a murmur of happiness steals through his rest, —
— " O God! thou hast blessed me, — I ask for no more. "
Ah! whence is that flame which now bursts on his eye?
— Ah! what is that sound which now larums his ear?
'Tis the lightning's red glare, painting hell on the sky!
— 'Tis the crash of the thunder, the groan of the sphere!
He springs from his hammock, he flies to the deck;
— Amazement confronts him with images dire;
Wild winds and mad waves drive the vessel a wreck;
— The masts fly in splinters; the shrouds are on fire.
Like mountains the billows tremendously swell;
— In vain the lost wretch calls on mercy to save;
Unseen hands of spirits are ringing his knell,
— And the death-angel flaps his broad wing o'er the wave!
O sailor-boy, woe to thy dream of delight!
— In darkness dissolves the gay frost-work of bliss.
Where now is the picture that Fancy touched bright, —
— Thy parents' fond pressure, and love's honeyed kiss?
O sailor-boy! sailor-boy! never again
— Shall home, love, or kindred thy wishes repay;
Unblessed and unhonored, down deep in the main,
— Full many a fathom, thy frame shall decay.
No tomb shall e'er plead to remembrance for thee,
— Or redeem form or fame from the merciless surge;
But the white foam of waves shall thy winding-sheet be,
— And winds, in the midnight of winter, thy dirge!
On a bed of green sea-flowers thy limbs shall be laid, —
— Around thy white bones the red coral shall grow;
Of thy fair yellow locks threads of amber be made,
— And every part suit to thy mansion below.
Days, months, years, and ages shall circle away,
— And still the vast waters above thee shall roll;
Earth loses thy pattern forever and aye, —
— O sailor-boy! sailor-boy! peace to thy soul!
— His hammock swung loose at the sport of the wind;
But watch-worn and weary, his cares flew away,
— And visions of happiness danced o'er his mind.
He dreamed of his home, of his dear native bowers,
— And pleasures that waited on life's merry morn;
While Memory stood sideways, half covered with flowers,
— And restored every rose, but secreted its thorn.
Then Fancy her magical pinions spread wide,
— And bade the young dreamer in ecstasy rise;
Now far, far behind him the green waters glide,
— And the cot of his forefathers blesses his eyes.
The jessamine clambers in flowers o'er the thatch,
— And the swallow sings sweet from her nest in the wall;
All trembling with transport he raises the latch,
— And the voices of loved ones reply to his call.
A father bends o'er him with looks of delight;
— His cheek is impearled with a mother's warm tear;
And the lips of the boy in a love-kiss unite
— With the lips of the maid whom his bosom holds dear.
The heart of the sleeper beats high in his breast;
— Joy quickens his pulses, his hardships seem o'er;
And a murmur of happiness steals through his rest, —
— " O God! thou hast blessed me, — I ask for no more. "
Ah! whence is that flame which now bursts on his eye?
— Ah! what is that sound which now larums his ear?
'Tis the lightning's red glare, painting hell on the sky!
— 'Tis the crash of the thunder, the groan of the sphere!
He springs from his hammock, he flies to the deck;
— Amazement confronts him with images dire;
Wild winds and mad waves drive the vessel a wreck;
— The masts fly in splinters; the shrouds are on fire.
Like mountains the billows tremendously swell;
— In vain the lost wretch calls on mercy to save;
Unseen hands of spirits are ringing his knell,
— And the death-angel flaps his broad wing o'er the wave!
O sailor-boy, woe to thy dream of delight!
— In darkness dissolves the gay frost-work of bliss.
Where now is the picture that Fancy touched bright, —
— Thy parents' fond pressure, and love's honeyed kiss?
O sailor-boy! sailor-boy! never again
— Shall home, love, or kindred thy wishes repay;
Unblessed and unhonored, down deep in the main,
— Full many a fathom, thy frame shall decay.
No tomb shall e'er plead to remembrance for thee,
— Or redeem form or fame from the merciless surge;
But the white foam of waves shall thy winding-sheet be,
— And winds, in the midnight of winter, thy dirge!
On a bed of green sea-flowers thy limbs shall be laid, —
— Around thy white bones the red coral shall grow;
Of thy fair yellow locks threads of amber be made,
— And every part suit to thy mansion below.
Days, months, years, and ages shall circle away,
— And still the vast waters above thee shall roll;
Earth loses thy pattern forever and aye, —
— O sailor-boy! sailor-boy! peace to thy soul!