And only the blue hollow cope I spied,
And the long waste of waters tossing wide.
More mournful then each falling surge I heard,
Then dropt the stagnant tear upon my beard.
Methought the wild waves said, amidst their roar
At midnight, Thou shalt see thy son no more!
Now thrice twelve moons through the mid heavens have rolled
And many a dawn, and slow night, have I told: 50
And still as every weary day goes by,
A knot recording on my line I tie;[31]
But never more, emerging from the main,
I see the stranger's bark approach again.
Has the fell storm o'erwhelmed him! Has its sweep
Buried the bounding vessel in the deep!
Is he cast bleeding on some desert plain!
Upon his father did he call in vain!
Have pitiless and bloody tribes defiled
The cold limbs of my brave, my beauteous child! 60
Oh! I shall never, never hear his voice;
The spring-time shall return, the isles rejoice,
But faint and weary I shall meet the morn,
And 'mid the cheering sunshine droop forlorn!
The joyous conch sounds in the high wood loud,
O'er all the beach now stream the busy crowd;
Fresh breezes stir the waving plantain grove;
The fisher carols in the winding cove;
And light canoes along the lucid tide
With painted shells and sparkling paddles glide. 70
I linger on the desert rock alone,
Heartless, and cry for thee, my son, my son.

[31] I find on referring to the narrative of Captain Wilson's voyage to
the Pelew Islands, that the knots were tied at the time of Prince Le
Boo's departure, and that one was untied every moon by the disconsolate
father.

The evening before the "Oroolong" sailed, the King asked Captain Wilson
how long it might be before his return to Pelew; and being told that it
would probably be about thirty moons, or might chance to extend to six
more, Abba Thule drew from his basket a piece of line, and after making
thirty knots on it, a little distance from each other, left a long
space, and then adding six others, carefully put it by.

SOUTHAMPTON WATER.

Smooth went our boat upon the summer seas,
Leaving, for so it seemed, the world behind,
Its sounds of mingled uproar: we, reclined
Upon the sunny deck, heard but the breeze
That o'er us whispering passed, or idly played
With the lithe flag aloft. A woodland s