OBSCUREST night involved the sky, | |
The Atlantic billows roared, | |
When such a destined wretch as I, | |
Washed headlong from on board, | |
Of friends, of hope, of all bereft, | 5 |
His floating home for ever left. | |
|
No braver chief could Albion boast | |
Than he with whom he went, | |
Nor ever ship left Albions coast | |
With warmer wishes sent. | 10 |
He loved them both, but both in vain, | |
Nor him beheld, nor her again. | |
|
Not long beneath the whelming brine, | |
Expert to swim, he lay; | |
Nor soon he felt his strength decline, | 15 |
Or courage die away; | |
But waged with death a lasting strife, | |
Supported by despair of life. | |
|
He shouted: nor his friends had failed | |
To check the vessels course, | 20 |
But so the furious blast prevailed | |
That, pitiless perforce, | |
They left their outcast mate behind, | |
And scudded still before the wind. | |
|
Some succour yet they could afford; | 25 |
And such as storms allow, | |
The cask, the coop, the floated cord, | |
Delayed not to bestow. | |
But he (they knew) nor ship nor shore, | |
Whateer they gave, should visit more. | 30 |
|
Nor, cruel as it seemed, could he | |
Their haste himself condemn, | |
Aware that flight, in such a sea, | |
Alone could rescue them; | |
Yet bitter felt it still to die | 35 |
Deserted, and his friends so nigh. | |
|
He long survives, who lives an hour | |
In ocean, self-upheld; | |
And so long he, with unspent power, | |
His destiny repelled; | 40 |
And ever, as the minutes flew, | |
Entreated help, or cried Adieu! | |
|
At length, his transient respite past, | |
His comrades, who before | |
Had heard his voice in every blast, | 45 |
Could catch the sound no more: | |
For then, by toil subdued, he drank | |
The stifling wave, and then he sank. | |
|
No poet wept him; but the page | |
Of narrative sincere, | 50 |
That tells his name, his worth, his age | |
Is wet with Ansons tear: | |
And tears by bards or heroes shed | |
Alike immortalize the dead. | |
|
I therefore purpose not, or dream, | 55 |
Descanting on his fate, | |
To give the melancholy theme | |
A more enduring date: | |
But misery still delights to trace | |
Its semblance in anothers case. | 60 |
|
No voice divine the storm allayed, | |
No light propitious shone, | |
When, snatched from all effectual aid, | |
We perished, each alone: | |
But I beneath a rougher sea, | 65 |
And whelmed in deeper gulfs than he. | |