SONG OF THE PIRATE'S WIFE,
ON HER PASSAGE FROM CORUNNA TO NEW YORK.
Air—"Meeting of the Waters."
"The wife of the Spanish Pirate, Bernardo de Soto, hearing in Corunna, in Spain, of the trial and condemnation of her husband in Boston, immediately freighted a small schooner, and leaving her three children, sailed for Boston. She visited Washington to intercede for her husband, returned to New York, and hastened to Boston to afford him the solace of her presence."
| Adieu to the shores of my dear native clime, The land of the olive and pale-tinted lime! Your bright orange tree, and your clustering vine, No pleasure can yield to this sad soul of mine. I go from the land of my dear cottage-home— My babes, they are there—from my babes I must roam; A mother's fond heart, it hath bid them adieu, And fatherless children left motherless too. That cheek, from my own I have torn it away, Unlock'd the dear arms that would force me to stay; All eloquent, vainly, the big tears did flow, The heart of the wife bade the mother to go. Blow breezes! blow breezes! fill kindly the sail— My panting heart leaps at the voice of the gale; Swift onward! swift onward! his doom may be seal'd, Unheard my petition, my love unreveal'd. They're gone, the bright shores of my dear native clime, The land of the olive and pale-tinted lime— All tearless, bright shores, I can see you depart, For stronger than death is the love of my heart. The stain of his hands, though the crimson of blood, That may not be blanch'd with the deep ocean-flood— The sin of his soul against mercy and truth Cannot wean from the pirate the wife of his youth. For mercy! for mercy!—to offer my plea, Nor ocean nor land can have terrors for me; From country and home I can heedlessly part— The cell of the pirate is home to my heart. There's pardon! there's pardon! and long shall his life, Unsullied by crime, be the bliss of his wife— And blessed, thenceforward, most blessed shall be The home of Senora, beneath the lime tree. |
ELIZA.
Maine.
For the Southern Literary Messenger.