Читать книгу Graham's Magazine Vol XXXIII No. 3 September 1848 - Various - Страница 2

"God's blessing on the bonny barque!" the gallant seamen cried,

As with her snowy sails outspread she cleft the yielding tide —

"God's blessing on the bonny barque!" cried the landsmen from the shore,

As with a swallow's rapid flight she skimmed the waters o'er.

Oh never from the good old Bay, a fairer ship did sail,

Or in more trim and brave array did court the favoring gale.

Cheerily sung the marinere as he climbed the high, high mast,

The mast that was made of the Norway pine, that scorned the mountain-blast.

But brave Mark Edward dashed a tear in secret from his eye,

As he saw green Trimount dimmer grow against the distant sky,

And fast before the gathering breeze his noble vessel fly.

Oh, youth will cherish many a hope, and many a fond desire,

And nurse in secret in the heart the hidden altar-fire!

And though young Mark Edward trode his deck with footstep light and free,

Yet a shadow was on his manly brow as his good ship swept the sea;

A shadow was on his manly brow as he marked the fading shore,

And the faint line of the far green hills where dwelt his loved Lenore.

Merrily sailed the bonny barque toward her destined port,

And the white waves curled around her prow as if in wanton sport.

Merrily sailed the bonny barque till seven days came and past,

When her snowy canvas shivered and rent before the northern blast,

And out of her course, and away, away, careered she wild and fast.

Black lowered the heavens, loud howled the winds, as the gallant barque drove on,

"God save her from the stormy seas," prayed the sailors every one,

But hither and thither the mad winds bore her, careening wildly on.

Oh, a fearful thing is the mighty wind as it raves the land along,

And the forests rock beneath the shock of the fierce blasts and the strong,

But when the wild and angry waves come rushing on their prey,

And to and fro the good ship reels with the wind's savage play,

Oh! then it is more fearful far in that frail barque to be,

At the mercy of the wind and wave, alone upon the sea.

Mark Edward's eye grew stern and calm as day by day went on,

And farther from the destined port the gallant barque was borne.

From her tall masts the sails were rent, yet fast and far she flew,

But whither she drove there knew not one among her gallant crew,

Nor the captain, nor the marineres, not one among them knew.

Now there had come and past away full many weary days,

And each looked in each other's face with sad and blank amaze,

For ghastly Famine's bony hand was stretched to clutch his prey,

And still the adverse winds blew on as they would blow alway.

And dark and fearful whispered words from man to man went past,

As of some dread and fatal deed which they must do at last.

And night and morn and noon they prayed, oh blessed voice of prayer!

That God would bring their trembling souls out of this great despair.

And every straining eye was bent out o'er the ocean-wave,

But they saw no sail, there came no ship the storm-tost barque to save.

The fatal die was cast at length; and tears filled every eye

As forth a gentle stripling slept and gave himself to die.

They looked upon his pure white brow, and his face so fair to see,

And all with one accord cried out, "Oh, God! this must not be!"

And brave Mark Edward calmly said, "Let the lot fall on me."

"Not so," the generous youth exclaimed, "of little worth am I,

But 'twould strike the life from out us all were it thy lot to die."

"Let us once more entreat the Lord; he yet our souls may spare,"

And kneeling down the gray-haired man sent up a fervent prayer.

Oh mighty is the voice of prayer! to him that asks is given,

And as to Israel of old was manna sent from heaven,

So now their prayer was answered, for, leaping from the sea,

A mighty fish fell in their midst, where they astonished be.

"Now glory to the Father be, and to the Son be praise!

Upon the deep He walketh, in the ocean are His ways,

'Tis meet that we should worship Him who doeth right always."

And then from all that noble crew a hymn of joy arose —

It flowed from grateful hearts as free as running water flows.

Day after day still passed away, gaunt Famine pressed again,

Each turned away from each, as if smit with a sudden pain.

They feared to meet each other's eyes and read the secret there,

And each his pangs in silence strove a little yet to bear.

The eye grew dim with looking out upon the weary main,

Wave rolling after wave was all that answered back again.

But night and morn and noon they prayed – oh blessed voice of prayer!

That God would bring their trembling souls out of this great despair.

Again the fatal die was cast; a man of powerful frame

Slowly and with reluctant step to the dread summons came.

Large drops of anguish on his brow – his lips were white with fear —

Oh 'tis a dreadful death to die! Is there no succor near?

They looked around on every side, but saw no sight of cheer.

"It is not for myself I dread," the sailor murmured low,

"But for my wife and little babes, oh what a tale of wo!"

"It shall not be," Mark Edward cried, "for their dear sakes go free.

I have no wife to mourn my fate, let the lot fall on me."

"Not so, oh generous and brave!" the sailor grateful said,

"The lot is mine, but cheer thou her and them when I am dead."

And turning with a calmer front he bade the waiting crew

What not themselves but fate compelled, to haste and quickly do.

But who shall do the dismal work? The innocent life who take?

One after one each shrunk away, but no word any spake.

Still hunger pressed them sore, and pangs too dreadful to be borne.

"Be merciful, oh Father, hear! To thee again we turn."

Then in their agony they strove, and wrestled long in prayer,

Till suddenly they heard a sound come from the upper air,

A sound of rushing wings, and lo! oh sight of joy! on high

A great bird circles round the masts, and ever draws more nigh.

In lightning play of hope and fear one breathless moment passed,

The next, the bird has lighted down and settled on the mast.

And soon within his grasp secure a seaman holds him fast.

"Now glory be unto our God – and to His name be praise!

Upon the deep he walketh, in the ocean are his ways,

From ghastly fear our suppliant souls he royally hath freed,

And sent us succor from the air in this our sorest need."

But day by day still passed away, and Famine fiercer pressed,

And still the adverse winds blew on and knew no change or rest.

Yet strove they in their agony to let no murmuring word

Against the good and gracious Lord, from out their lips be heard.

But with their wildly gleaming eyes they gazed out o'er the main.

Wave rolling after wave was all that answered back again.

On the horizon's distant verge not even a speck was seen,

But the cresting foam of breaking waves still shimmering between.

And fiercer yet, as hour by hour went slowly creeping by,

The famine wrung their tortured frames till it were bliss to die.

And hopes of further aid grew faint, and it did seem that they

Out on the waste of waters wide of Heaven forgotten lay.

But night and morn and noon they prayed – oh blessed voice of prayer!

That God would save their trembling souls out of this great despair.

Again the fatal die was cast, and 'mid a general gloom,

Mark Edward calmly forward came to meet the appointed doom.

But when they saw his noble port, and his manly bearing brave,

Each would have given up his life that bold young heart to save.

They would have wept, but their hot eyes refused the grateful tear,

Yet with sorrowful and suppliant looks they drew themselves more near.

Mark Edward turned aside and spoke in accents calm and low,

Unto a man with silver hair, whose look was full of wo,

And bade him if the Lord should spare, and they should reach the shore,

To bear a message from his lips to his beloved Lenore.

"Tell her my thoughts were God's and hers," the brave young spirit cried,

"Tell her not how it came to pass, say only that I died."

Then with a brief and earnest prayer his soul to God he gave,

Beseeching that the sacrifice the lives of all might save.

Each looked on each, but not a hand would strike the fatal blow,

It was a death pang but to think what hand should lay him low.

And sick at heart they turned away their misery to bear,

And wrestled once again with God in agony of prayer.

As drops of blood wrung from the heart fell each imploring word,

Oh, God of Heaven! and can it be such prayer is still unheard?

They strained once more each aching orb out o'er the gloomy main,

Wave rolling after wave was all that answered back again.

They waited yet – they lingered yet – they searched the horizon round,

No sight of land, no blessed sail, no living thing was found.

They lingered yet – hope faded fast from out the hearts of all.

They waited yet – till black Despair sunk o'er them like a pall.

They turned to where Mark Edward stood with his unblenching brow,

Or he must die their lives to save, or all must perish now.

They lingered yet – they waited yet – a sudden shriek rung out —

"A sail! A sail! Oh, blessed Lord!" burst forth one joyful shout.

New strength those famished men received; fervent their thanks, but brief —

They man their boat, they reach the ship, they ask a swift relief.

Strange faces meet their view, they hear strange words in tongues unknown,

And evil eyes with threatening gaze are sternly looking down.

They pause – for a new terror bids their hearts' warm current freeze,

For they have met a pirate ship, the scourge of all the seas.

But up and out Mark Edward spake, and in the pirates' tongue,

And when the pirate captain heard, quick to his side he sprung,

And vowed by all the saints of France – the living and the dead —

There should not even a hair be harmed upon a single head,

For once, when in a dismal strait, Mark Edward gave him aid,

And now the debt long treasured up should amply be repaid.

He gave them water from his casks, and bread, and all things store,

And showed them how to lay their course to reach the destined shore.

And the blessing of those famished men went with him evermore.

Again the favoring gale arose, the barque went bounding on,

And speedily her destined port was now in safety won.

And after, when green Trimount's hills greet their expectant eyes,

New thanks to Heaven, new hymns of joy unto the Lord arise.

For glory be unto our Lord, and to His name be praise!

Upon the deep he walketh, in the ocean are his ways.

'Tis meet that we should worship him who doeth right always.