THE HELMSMAN.
Hark! the bell 1 it sounds midnight!—all hail, thou new
heav’n!
How soft sleep the stars on their bosom of night!
While o’er the full moon, as they gently are driven,
Slowly floating the clouds bathe their fleeces in light.
The warm feeble breeze scarcely ripples the ocean,
And all seems so hush’d, all so happy to feel!
So smooth glides the bark, I perceive not her motion,
While low sings the sailor who watches the wheel.
That sailor I’ve noted—his cheek, fresh and blooming
With health, scarcely yet twenty springs can have
seen;
His looks they are lofty, but never presuming,
His limbs strong, but light, and undaunted his mien.
Frank and clear is his brow, yet a thoughtful expression,
Half tender, half mournful, oft shadows his eye;
And murmurs escape him, which make the confession,
If not check’d by a hem, they had swell’d to a sigh.
His song is not pour’d to beguile the lone hour,
When in-watch on deck ’tis his duty to keep;
Nor of painful reflection to weaken the power,
Nor chase from his eyelids the pinions of sleep.
Tis so sad...‘tis so sweet... and some tones come so
swelling,
So right from the heart, and so pure to the ear;—
That sure at this moment his thoughts must be dwelling
On one who is absent, most kind and most dear.
Perhaps on a mother his mind loves to linger,
Whose wants to relieve, the rough seas hath he
cross’d;
Who kiss’d him at parting, and vow’d he could bring her
No jewel so dear as the one she then lost!
No, no! ’tis a sweetheart, his soul’s cherish’d treasure,
Those full melting notes... hark! he breathes them
again!
So mournful, and yet they’re prolong’d with such plea
sure........
Oh, nothing but love could have prompted the strain.
Yet, whate’er be the cause of thy sadness, young seaman,
That the weight be soon lighten’d, I send up my vow;
From the stings of remorse, I’ll be sworn, thou’rt a
freeman,
No guilt ever ruffled the smooth of that brow!
That sigh which you breath’d sprang from pensive
affection;
That song, though so plaintive, sheds balm on the
heart;
And the pain which you feel at each fond recollection,
Is worth all the pleasures that vice could impart.
Oh, still may the scenes of your life, like the present,
Shine bright to the eye, and speak calm to the breast;
May each wave flow as gentle, each breeze play as
pleasant,
And warm as the clime prove the friends you love best!
And may she, who now dictates that ballad so tender,
Diffuse o’er your days the heart’s solace and ease,
As yon lovely moon, with a gleam of mild splendour,
Pure, tranquil, and bright, over-silvers the seas!