The broken heart may heave a sigh,

E'en while it bows to heav'n; And if a tear bedew my eye,

That tear shall be forgiven.

THE WORN-OUT TAR.

"Navita de ventis, de taurus narrat arrator,
Enumerat miles vulnera, pastor oves."

THE ship was now in sight of land,

And crowds from shore with joy did hail her,

The happy hour was nigh at hand

When each sweet lass would see her sailor : How gallantly she ploughs her way!

To England's shores returning back ;

And ev'ry heart is light and gay,
Except the heart of honest Jack.

From hardy youth to vig'rous age,

With sturdy arm he stemm'd the wave; And in the battle's hottest rage

He fought, the bravest midst the brave: And many a bitter sigh he gave,

And scarce suppress'd the starting tear; He wish'd the sea had prov'd his grave, Some shot had clos'd his long career.

For he was old, his frame was worn,

His cheek had lost its manly hue;

Unlike his glory's rising morn,

When big with hope his fancy grew:
Yet was his heart as firm and true;

In his lov'd country's cause as warm,
As when he cheer'd his gallant crew
To face the foe, or brave the storm!

By time, and toil, and sickness chang'd,
From friends, from home, and kindred dear,
For thirty tedious years estrang'd—
When he, long lost, shall reappear,
How will they start his voice to hear!
And bless the day he ceas'd to roam,
And fondly dry each grateful tear,

And welcome the poor wand'rer home!

Then, while the children climb his knees,
And youth and age stand list'ning by,
He'll tell, when oft he plough'd the seas,
Winds blew, and waves ran mountains high ;

And, while a tear bedews each eye,

Declare, but in a falt'ring tone,

He saw the gallant Nelson die,

And heard the hero's parting groan.

How, as he gloriously expir'd,

Dread war a fiercer aspect wore ;

As Britain's sons, with vengeance fir'd,
Bade all their brazen cannons roar;
Till rude Trafalgar's rocky shore,

And heaving ocean's depths profound,
Proclaim'd the conq'ring chief no more,
And echoed back the solemn sound.

How once the ship was tempest driv❜n,
In Biscay's deep and treacherous Bay,
Without one blessed star from Heav'n
To light her on her lonely way;
O, then 'twas first he learn'd to pray!
And own th' Almighty's sov'reign will;
When He, whom winds and seas obey,
Stretch'd forth his arm-and all was still.

How, captive in a foreign land,

Far off, beneath the burning zone,
Th' abode of men, a savage band,
Who worshipp'd idols of their own:
He made the glorious Gospel known;
With reverential awe they heard,
And bow'd before Jehovah's throne,
And bless'd Salvation's sacred word.

When wounded on the deck he lay,
And death stood by with terrors grim,

And eager monsters watch'd their prey,

And sea-birds sang his funeral hymn, Death had no slavish fears for him!

Let cowards shrink at every ballWhat! if he lost his life, or limb,

His king and country claim'd it all.

Now let the wand'rer rest in peace, And wear out life's remaining span;

Here let the bold inquirer cease

The will of Providence to scan: Dark are the ways of God to man!

And he who bears misfortune's blast, Shall bless each wise mysterious plan, And anchor safe in Port at last.