husband left the bay, the wind and rain
Came down, the tempest swept the howling main;
The boat sank in the storm, and he was found,
Below the rocks of the dark Lizard, drowned.
Seven years had passed, and after evening prayer,
To William's cottage Ruth would oft repair,
And with her little son would sometimes stay, 460
Listening to tales of regions far away.
The wondering boy loved of those scenes to hear--
Of battles--of the roving buccaneer--
Of the wild hunters, in the forest-glen,
And fires, and dances of the savage men.
So William spoke of perils he had passed,--
Of voices heard amid the roaring blast;
Of those who, lonely and of hope bereft,
Upon some melancholy rock are left,
Who mark, despairing, at the close of day, 470
Perhaps, some far-off vessel sail away.
He spoke with pity of the land of slaves--
And of the phantom-ship that rides the waves.[70]
It comes! it comes! A melancholy light
Gleams from the prow upon the storm of night.
'Tis here! 'tis there! In vain the billows roll;
It steers right on, but not a living soul
Is there to guide its voyage through the dark,
Or spread the sails of that mysterious bark!
He spoke of vast sea-serpents, how they float 480
For many a rood, or near some hurrying boat
Lift up their tall neck, with a hissing sound,
And questing turn their bloodshot eye-balls round.
He spoke of sea-maids, on the desert rocks,
Who in the sun comb their green dripping locks,
While, heard at distance, in the parting ray,
Beyond the furthest promontory's bay,
Aerial music swells and dies away!
One night they longer stayed the tale to hear,
And Ruth that night "beguiled him of a tear, 490
Whene'er he told of the distressful stroke
Which his youth suffered." Then, she pitying spoke;
And from that night a softer feeling grew,
As calmer prospects rose within his view.
And why not, ere the long night of the dead,
The slow descent of life together tread?
The day is fixed; William no more shall roam,
William and Ruth shall have one heart--one home:
The world shut out, both shall together pray:
Both wait the evening of life's changeful day: 500
She shall his anguish soothe, when he is wild,
And he shall be a father to her child.
Fair ro