THE CASTAWAY. 1799. OBSCUREST night involved the sky, No braver chief could Albion boast He loved them both, but both in vain, Not long beneath the whelming brine, Expert to swim, he lay; Nor soon he felt his strength decline, Or courage die away; But waged with death a lasting strife, Supported by despair of life. He shouted; nor his friends had fail'd To check the vessel's course, But so the furious blast prevail'd, That, pitiless perforce, They left their outcast mate behind, And scudded still before the wind. Some succour yet they could afford; The cask, the coop, the floated cord, But he (they knew) nor ship nor shore, Nor, cruel as it seem'd, could he Yet bitter felt it still to die He long survives who lives an hour And so long he, with unspent power, At length, his transient respite pass'd, No poet wept him: but the page Of narrative sincere, That tells his name, his worth, his age, Is wet with Anson's tear: And tears by bards or heroes shed 1 therefore purpose not, or dream, But misery still delights to trace No voice divine the storm allay'd; But I beneath a rougher sea, And whelm'd in deeper gulfs than he. |