THE STORY OF 'LORN LIGHT. BY THOMAS HOOD. [THOMAS HOOD, English poet, was born May 23, 1798, in London; son of a bookseller and nephew of an engraver. A merchant's clerk at thirteen, the engraver's apprentice at nineteen, his health gave out from the confinement of each; he next became a subeditor of the London Magazine for two years; then a professional man of letters, editing The Gem in 1829, starting the Comic Annual in 1830, succeeding Hook as editor of the New Monthly in 1841, and starting Hood's Own in 1844. He died May 3, 1845. An eleven-volume edition of his works was issued 1882-1884. His fame rests chiefly on his matchless lines "The Song of the Shirt," "The Bridge of Sighs," "Fair Ines," "A Deathbed," "I Remember," "Eugene Aram's Dream," etc.; but his humorous pieces, like "The Lost Heir," "Ode to a Child," etc., the tragi-grotesque "Miss Kilmansegg, ," and others, swell its volume.] THE story of 'Lorn Light, that lends its lamp And many a gallant heart has found a tomb. West of the point whereon the lighthouse stands, A little village, full of fisherfolk, That boasts a tiny pier, of stone rough-hewn, Here, summer visitors-like swallows-came, And gleamed along the sands. But when the year, Broke on their breast, and leapt from ledge to ledge. For those whose boats might never more come home - Seen in the daylight, heard in midnight gloom, In that small village Richard Masters dwelt, A longing for some nobler work afloat. Had long ago sought scenes of sterner strife, And gently feed her failing lamp of life. But Love, the pilot, who delights to steer Poor human hearts on sand bank or on reef Or, for long voyages will sail them clear, Which bring them back with heavy freights of griefLove took the tiller out of Richard's hand (Tis vain the pilot's mandate to resist), Then turned the vessel's head away from land, For, as he dropt one evening with the stream, O'er violet eyes saw golden lashes droop; Saw the red sun on silken tresses shine, On peach-soft cheeks, and lips of rosy bloom, And fancied he beheld some shape divine That beamed upon him in the gathering gloom. Ah, sweet! ah, sore! the anguish and the joy When first the soul's chords thrill to passion's hand! With heart that almost burst for bliss, the boy A summer visitor that lovely maid, Who thus had bound poor Richard's heart her thrall — One of those summer sojourners who paid Their fleeting visits to the hamlet small. He learnt her name; and she was far above The humble fisher's wildest, fondest dreams; But all in vain he strove against the love He never spoke of that deep wound he bore, Time passed. The poor old mother, left alone, But he had volunteered when England's fleet Had need of sailors, for the hapless Greek Within his heart two women's memories dwelt, Great deeds seem small-made danger seem unknown, For he had sworn to perish for her sake, Or win a fame she would not blush to own. And Richard fought in Navarino's bay, For they had fought the fiery contest out, 'Mid showers of shot, and flames, and falling spars (Heaven help the fools, who ever feel a doubt That when war comes, our England will lack tars). And all the officers had fallen, and he, The mate, had fought the little craft alone, And fought so well, the fleet all cheered to see The cutter with her prizes overgrown. Back to that little village on the coast, Poor Richard hastened, with a pride sincere, To tell his story, not for vulgar boast, But joyous news to glad a mother's ear. That for his long, long absence would atone! He sought the well-known cot, - but where was she? He found an answer in the cold gray stone, That in the windy graveyard watched the sea! Then memory of the other loved one came: His heart grew cold to think, "Was she, too, dead?" But brain and breast seemed filled with living flame To learn that she was living—and was wed! Had wedded one whom Richard knew of old, A gallant seaman, worthy of his post As captain of the "Swift," whose trade was gold, Thus all the light died out of Richard's life, Were many living he had known of yore, Richard was foremost of the rescuing crew, Despite the waves that threatened to o'erwhelm; Pushed off to sea among the gallant few, And took the post of danger at the helm! One night the boat, while loud the tempest shrieked, Put forth to aid a vessel seen to strike On Doom's dark Reef- and ocean vengeance wreaked Upon the wrecked and rescuers alike! The boat was dashed against the vessel's side And shattered stove- sunk with her weary crew: Then, while they battled with the boiling tide, The ship heeled over-groaned and broke in two! They drew poor Richard forth upon the sand, Worn out with struggling in the yeasty waves, For he had borne a burden to the strand, Though now they both seemed fit but for their graves! But Richard was a man, and iron-nerved, And so with care he came to life erelong; But she was dead, whom he had fain preserved- And this was one as delicate and fair As bindweed blooms, that perish at a touch, With soft blue eyes, and silky golden hairDeath has no need of violence with such! But when poor Richard, staggering to his feet, He laid her in the little quiet grave, Beside his mother, looking o'er the sea, Here he, too, hoped his rest at last would be! Meet her destruction on the Reef of Doom; |