Thou, as a gallant bark from Albion's coast (The storms all weathered and the ocean crossed) 90 Shoots into port at some well-haven'd isle, Where spices breathe, and brighter seasons smile, There sits quiescent on the floods, that show Her beauteous form reflected clear below, While airs impregnated with incense play 95 Around her, fanning light her streamers gay; So thou, with sails how swift! hast reached the shore, "Where tempests never beat nor billows roar," And thy loved consort on the dangerous tide Of life long since has anchored by thy side. 100 But me, scarce hoping to attain that rest, Always from port withheld, always distressed- And day by day some current's thwarting force And now, farewell-Time unrevoked has run His wonted course, yet what I wished is done. By contemplation's help, not sought in vain, 115 I seem to have lived my childhood o'er again; To have renewed the joys that once were mine, Without the sin of violating thine: And, while the wings of Fancy still are free, And I can view this mimic show of thee, 120 Time has but half succeeded in his theftThy self removed, thy power to soothe me left. The brave that are no more! 5 Eight hundred of the brave, A land-breeze shook the shrouds, Down went the Royal George, Toll for the brave! Brave Kempenfelt is gone; It was not in the battle; 20 She ran upon no rock. His sword was in its sheath; 25 Weigh the vessel up, Once dreaded by our foes! Her timbers yet are sound, Full-charged with England's thunder, But Kempenfelt is gone, 35 And he and his eight hundred THE CAST-AWAY (March 20, 1799) Obscurest night involved the sky, No braver chief could Albion boast Nor ever ship left Albion's coast 10 With warmer wishes sent. He loved them both, but both in vain, Not long beneath the whelming brine, 15 Nor soon he felt his strength decline, But waged with death a lasting strife, He shouted: nor his friends had failed 20 To check the vessel's course, But so the furious blast prevailed, That, pitiless perforce, They left their outcast mate behind, 25 Some succor yet they could afford; The cask, the coop, the floated cord, But he (they knew) nor ship nor shore, 30 What e'er they gave, should visit more. Nor, cruel as it seemed, could he 35 Yet bitter felt it still to die Deserted, and his friends so nigh. He long survives, who lives an hour And so long he, with unspent power, 40 His destiny repelled; And ever, as the minutes flew, At length, his transient respite past, 45 Had heard his voice in every blast, For then, by toil subdued, he drank No poet wept him; but the page 50 Of narrative sincere, That tells his name, his worth, his age, And tears by bards or heroes shed 55 I therefore purpose not, or dream, To give the melancholy theme But misery still delights to trace 60 Its semblance in another's case. No voice divine the storm allayed, When, snatched from all effectual aid, 65 But I beneath a rougher sea, And whelmed in deeper gulfs than he. William Blake 1757-1827 TO THE MUSES (From Poetical Sketches, 1783) Whether on Ida's shady brow, 5 Whether in Heaven ye wander fair, Or the green corners of the earth, Or the blue regions of the air, Where the melodious winds have birth; Whether on crystal rocks ye rove 10 Beneath the bosom of the sea, Wandering in many a coral grove; Fair Nine, forsaking Poetry; |