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To rouse his myrmidons afar,
In their dark, viewless caves ! The ruffian winds wage instant war
Upon the “yesty waves !"
Now from his golden dream of joy,
No human succour nigh, Awakes the hapless sailor boy,
To sad reality!
No fostering father's arms to guard,
No mother's breast to warmBut drench'd with cold, he mounts the yard,
And braves the deafening storm.
Oh! mother in thy midnight prayer,
(He cries) remember me ! E'en now, midst horror and despair,
I supplicate for thee.
Almighty power! who ruls’t the deep,
And on the storm doth ride, Guard her! oh! may she soundly sleep,
Be every want supplied !
And if it please thee, now to take
The life which thou hast given, Grant, Lord! for the Redeemer's sake,
That we may meet in heaven.
Behold her now, in piteous plight,
Lo! how her robes are torn, And she a miserable sight
Before the wild winds borné.
Her tall mast, towering to the skies,
So late her boast and pride, Now (shivered by the lightening) lies
A wreck against her side.
Now headlong down the gulf impell’d,
(A grave awaits her there) Now to the pitchy skies upheld,
She vaults aloft in air
Long, long she labour'd on the deep,
Bereft of every sail ;
She's founder'd in the gale.
Awake, sweet Harp................H. K. White. 30
Bank of the River of Death .......... Edmeston. 91