Intent on home, had turned, and saw the boat None came the rising wind blew sadly by: And there was wailing, weeping, wrath, and blame. Had one been there, with spirit strong and high, Who could observe, as he prepared to die, He might have seen of hearts the varying kind, And traced the movement of each different mind: He might have seen, that not the gentle maid Was more than stern and haughty man afraid; Such, calmly grieving, will their fears suppress, And silent prayers to Mercy's throne address; While fiercer minds, impatient, angry, loud, Force their vain grief on the reluctant crowd. The party's patron, sorely sighing, cried, "Why would you urge me? I at first denied." Fiercely they answered:-"Why will you complain, Who saw no danger, or were warned in vain ?" A few essayed the troubled soul to calm, Now rose the water through the lessening sand, "Once more, yet once again, with all our strength Cry to the land—we may be heard at length!" Vain hope, if yet unseen!—but hark !—an oar— That sound of bliss! comes dashing to their shore ; Still, still the water rises; "Haste!" they cry, “Oh, hurry, seamen ; in delay we die !" (Seamen were these, who in their ship perceived The drifted boat, and thus her crew relieved.) And now the keel just cuts the covered sand, Now to the gunwale stretches every hand: With trembling pleasure all confused embark, And kiss the tackling of their welcome ark: While the most giddy, as they reach the shore, Think of their danger, and their God adore. THE MANIAC. BY LEWIS. STAY, jailor, stay, and hear my woe! And what I was, and what should be. I'll rave no more in proud despair; I am not mad, I am not mad. My tyrant husband forged the tale, He smiles in scorn, and turns the key; 'Tis sure some dream, some vision vain ; Which never more my heart must glad, How aches my heart, how burns my head; But 'tis not mad; no, 'tis not mad. Hast thou, my child, forgot, ere this, Nor how with her you sued to stay; They'll make me mad, they'll make me mad. His rosy lips, how sweet they smiled! His mild blue eyes, how bright they shone; None ever bore a lovelier child: And art thou now for ever gone? I am not mad; I am not mad. Oh! hark! what mean those yells and cries? His chain some furious madman breaks; He comes, I see his glaring eyes; Now, now, my dungeon-grate he shakes. Help! help!-He's gone !-Oh! fearful woe, Such screams to hear, such sights to see! My brain, my brain,—I know, I know, I am not mad, but soon shall be. Yes, soon ;-for, lo! you-while I speak- Horror! -the reptile strikes his tooth Deep in my heart, so crushed and sad; Ay, laugh, ye fiends ;-I feel the truth; Your task is done-I'm mad! I'm mad! THE TWO WEAVERS. BY HANNAH MORE. As at their work two weavers sat "What with my babes and sickly wife," "How glorious is the rich man's state ! "In spite of what the Scripture teaches, This world, indeed, I've thought so long,Is ruled, methinks, extremely wrong. "Where'er I look, howe'er I range, 'Tis all confused, and hard, and strange; Quoth John, "Our ignorance is the cause, "Seest thou that carpet, not half done, Which thou, dear Dick, hast well begun ? Behold the wild confusion there! So rude the mass, it makes one stare! |