All day we fought like bull-dogs, but they burst the booms at night; And I fled in a piragua,' sore wounded, from the fight. Nine days I floated starving, and a negro lass beside, Till for all I tried to cheer her, the poor young thing she died; But as I lay a-gasping a Bristol sail came by And brought me home to England here, to beg until I die. And now I'm old and going-I'm sure I don't know where; One comfort is, this world's so hard, I can't be worse off there: If I might but be a sea-dove, I'd fly across the main, 1 Michaud, in his description of an Egyptian funeral procession, which he met on its way to the Cemetery at Rosetta, says, "The procession we saw pass stopped before certain houses, and sometimes receded a few steps. I was told that the dead stopped thus before the doors of their friends, to bid them a last farewell; and before those of their enemies, to effect a reconciliation ere they parted for ever." Yet, yet, ah! hasten not Where late he walked in glee- Yet, yet, ah! slowly move- Let the air breathe on him, Rest ye, set down the bier, One he loved dwelleth here: A moment that door beside, Hearken! he speaketh yet- (Friend-more than brother) How, hand in hand, we've gone, Heart with heart, locked in one, All to each other? Oh! friend, I go from thee, Where the worm feasteth free, Darkly to dwell. Giv'st thou no parting kiss? Friend! is it come to this? Oh! friend, farewell. Uplift your load again; Take up the mourning strain- Lo, the expected one, Yet, yet-ah! slowly move, Here dwells his mortal foe, Even at his gate. Will the dead speak again? Utt'ring proud boasts and vain Lo! the cold lips unclose List, list! what sounds are those Plantive and low! Oh! thou mine enemy, Come forth and look on me, Ere hence I go. Curse not thy foeman now, Mark on his pallid brow Whose seal is set. Pard'ning, I pass thy way; Then, wage not war with clay Pardon-forget. Now all his labour's done! END OF PART II. McCorquodale & Co., Printers, "The Armoury," Southwark. |