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, 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, 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: In his lov'd country's cause as warm, By time, and toil, and sickness chang'd, And welcome the poor wand'rer home! Then, while the children climb his knees, 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, And heaving ocean's depths profound, How once the ship was tempest driv❜n, How, captive in a foreign land, Far off, beneath the burning zone, When wounded on the deck he lay, 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. |