Some mighty gulf of separation past,

I seem'd transported to another world:

A thought resign'd with pain, when from the mast
The impatient mariner the sail unfurl'd,

And, whistling, call'd the wind that hardly curl'd
The silent sea. From the sweet thoughts of home
And from all hope I was for ever hurl❜d.

For me farthest from earthly port to roam
Was best, could I but shun the spot where man might come.

And oft I thought (my fancy was so strong).

That I, at last, a resting-place had found;
"Here will I dwell," said I," my whole life long,

Roaming the illimitable waters round:
Here will I live: - of every friend disown'd

And end my days upon the ocean flood."

To break my dream the vessel reach'd its bound:
And homeless near a thousand homes I stood,
And near a thousand tables pined, and wanted food.

By grief enfeebled, was I turn'd adrift,
Helpless as sailor cast on desert rock;

Nor morsel to my mouth that day did lift,
Nor dared my hand at any door to knock.
I lay where, with his drowsy Mates, the Cock
From the cross timber of an out-house hung:
Dismally toll'd, that night, the city clock!
At morn my sick heart hunger scarcely stung,
Nor to the beggar's language could I frame my tongue.

So pass'd another day, and so the third;
Then did I try in vain the crowd's resort.

– In deep despair, by frightful wishes stirr'd, Near the sea-side I reach'd a ruin'd Fort:

There, pains which nature could no more support,
With blindness link'd, did on my vitals fall,

And after many interruptions short

Of hideous sense, I sank, nor step could crawl;
Unsought for was the help that did my life recall.
Borne to an hospital, I lay with brain
Drowsy and weak, and shatter'd memory;
I heard my neighbours, in their beds, complain
Of many things which never troubled me;
Of feet still bustling round with busy glee;
Of looks where common kindness had no part;
Of service done with careless cruelty,

Fretting the fever round the languid heart;

And groans, which, as they said, might make a dead man s

These things just served to stir the torpid sense,
Nor pain nor pity in my bosom raised.

With strength did memory return; and, thence
Dismiss'd, again on open day I gazed,

At houses, men, and common light, amazed.
The lanes I sought, and, as the sun retired,
Came where beneath the trees a faggot blazed ;
The Travellers saw me weep, my fate inquired,

And gave me food, and rest, more welcome, more desir

They with their pannier'd Asses semblance made
Of Potters wandering on from door to door :
But life of happier sort to me pourtray'd,
And other joys my fancy to allure;

The bag-pipe, dinning on the midnight moor,
In barn uplighted; and companions boon
Well met from far with revelry secure,
Among the forest glades, when jocund June
Roll'd fast along the sky his warm and genial moon.

But ill they suited me those journeys dark
O'er moor and mountain, midnight theft to hatch!
To charm the surly House-dog's faithful bark,
Or hang on tip-toe at the lifted latch.

The gloomy lantern, and the dim blue match,
The black disguise, the warning whistle shrill,
And ear still busy on its nightly watch,
Were not for me, brought up in nothing ill:
Besides, on griefs so fresh my thoughts were brooding still.

What could I do, unaided and unblest?

My Father! gone was every friend of thine :

And kindred of dead husband are at best
Small help; and, after marriage such as mine,
With little kindness would to me incline.

Ill was I then for toil or service fit:

With tears whose course no effort could confine,
By the road-side forgetful would I sit

Whole hours, my idle arms in moping' sorrow knit.

I led a wandering life among the fields;
Contentedly, yet sometimes self-accused,
I lived upon what casual bounty yields,
Now coldly given, now utterly refused.
The ground I for my bed have often used:
But, what afflicts my peace with keenest ruth
Is, that I have my inner self abused,

Forgone the home delight of constant truth,
And clear and open soul, so prized in fearless youth

Three years thus wandering, often have I view'd,
In tears, the sun towards that country tend
Where my poor heart lost all its fortitude:
And now across this moor my steps I bend

Oh! tell me whither for no earthly friend

Have I." She ceased, and weeping turn'd away;→ As if because her tale was at an end

She wept ;-because she had no more to say

Of that perpetual weight which on her spirit lay.

VOL. I.

Q

POEMS

FOUNDED ON THE AFFECTIONS.