THE CASTAWAY.

OBSCUREST night involv'd the sky,

Th’ Atlantic billows roard, When such a destin'd wretch as I,

Wash'd headlong from on board, Of friends, of hope, of all bereft, His floating home for ever left.

No braver chief could Albion boast,

Than he, with whom he went, Nor ever ship left Albion's coast,

With warmer wishes sent. He lov'd 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,

Or courage die away ; But wag'd with death a lasting strife, Supported by despair of life.

He shouted; por his friends had fail'd

To check the vessel's course,
But so the furious blast prevaild,

That, pitiless, perforce,
They left their outcast mate behind,
And scudded still before the wind.

Some succour yet they could afford;

And, such as storms allow,
The cask, the coop, the floated cord,

Delay'd not to bestow :
But he, they knew, nor ship nor shore,
Whate'er they gave, should visit more.

Nor, crnel as it seem'd, conld he

Their haste himself condemn,
Aware that flight, in such a sea,

Alone could rescue them;
Yet bitter felt it, still, to die
Deserted, and his friends so nigh.

He long survives, who lives an hour

In ocean, self-upheld;
And so long he, with unspent pow'r,

llis destiny repellid;
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 ev'ry blast,

Could catch the sound no more;
For then, by toil subdu'd, he drank
The stifling wave, and then he sank.

No poet wept him; but the page

Of narrative, sincere,
That tells his name, his worth, his age,

Is wet with Anson's tear;
And tears, by bards or beroes shed,
Alike immortalize the dead,

I therefore purpose not, or dream,

Descanting on his fate,
To give the melancholy theme

A more enduring date:
But mis'ry still delights to trace
It's semblance, in another's case.

No voice divine the storm allay'd,

No light propitious shone;
When, snatch'd from all effectual aid,

We perish'd, each alone :
But I beneath a rougher sea,
And whelm'd in deeper gulfs than he.

SONNET TO CHARLES DIODATI.

CHARLES-and I say it wond'ring—thou must know,

That I, who once assum'd a scornful air,

And scoff'd at love, am fallen in his snare,(Full many an upright man has falln 80.) Yet, think me not thus dazzled by the flow

Of golden locks, or damask cheek : more rare

The heart-felt beauties of my foreign fair : A mien majestic, with dark brows, that show

The tranquil lustre of a lofty mind; Words exquisite-of idioms more than one,

And song, whose fascinating pow'r might bind, And, from her sphere, draw down the lab'ring moon;

With such fire-darting eyes, that, should I fill
My ears with wax, she would enchant me still.

ODE TO PEACE.

Come, peace of mind, delightful guest! Return, and make thy downy nest,

Once more, in this sad heart : Nor riches I nor power pursue, Nor hold forbidden joys in view :

We therefore need not part.

Where wilt thou dwell, if not with me,
From av'rice and ambition free

And pleasure's fatal wiles ?
For whom, alas ! dost thou prepare
The sweets that I was wont to share,

The banquet of thy smiles ?

The great, the gay, shall they partake The heaven that thou alone canst make ?

And wilt thou quit the stream, That murmurs through the dewy mead, The grove, and the sequester'd shed,

To be a guest with them?

For thee I panted, thee I priz'd,
For thee I gladly sacrific'd

Whate'er I lov'd before;
And shall I see thee start away,
And, helpless, hopeless, hear thee say,

Farewell! we meet no more ?

HUMAN FRAILTY.

WEAK and irresolute is man;

The purpose of today,
Woven with pains into his plan,

To-morrow rends away.

The bow well bent, and smart the spring,

Vice seems already slain;
But passion rudely snaps the string,

And it revives again.

Some foe to his upright intent

Finds out his weaker part; Virtue engages his assent,

But pleasure wins his heart.

T is here the folly of the wise

Through all bis heart we view; And, while his tongue the charge devies,

His conscience owns it true.

Bound on a voy'ge of awful length,

And dangers little known,
A stranger to superior strength,

Man vainly trusts his own.

But oars alone can ne'er prevail,

To reach the distant coast; The breath of Heav'n must swell the sail,

Or all the toil is lost.