Nor let that heart one moment feel
Such pangs as force my own to ache.
Demon of Memory, cherish’d grief!
Oh, could I break thy wand in twain!
Oh, could I close thy magic leaf,
Till those I love are mine again!
DECEMBER 1. (FRIDAY.)
The captain to-day pointed oat to me a sailor-boy, who, about three years ago, was shaken from the mast-head, and fell through the scuttle into the hold; the distance was above eighty feet, yet the boy was taken up with only a few bruises.
DECEMBER 3. (SUNDAY.)
The wind during the last two days has been more favourable; and at nine this morning we were in the latitude of Madeira.