Fugitive Poetry. 1600–1878/Outward Bound

Outward Bound.

Here musing on the busy quay,Watching the seamen bound for sea,A scene, how like to life, we view,A meeting, and a parting too,A short while here, and then adieu.Far, far away to sea.

The ship now leaves the harbour side,For she must on her mission glide,Anti as they gently pass the pierThe sailors give a farewell cheer,The women drop a parting tear,And on the brave bark rides.

Now ploughing through the deep with speed,She prances like some noble steed,And gaily bounding o'er the bay,She bravely steers her briny way,And dashes through the sparkling spray,As if from bondage freed.

Now far out on the ocean wideShe onward steers—may heaven guide— On, ever on, until she seemSome petty speck in Phoebus' beam,Then vanishes, like passing dream,Across the silvery tide.

And so the good ship disappearsFrom eyes bedewed with parting tears,Whilst sweetheart, wife, and sister pray,That He who stills the tempest mayWatch o'er them on their watery way,And guard them from all fears.

Thus do our hardy seamen roam,Over the wild sea, far from home,'Midst dangers of the mighty mainThey firmly strive—Jet's hope not vain,But that they may return again,Safe o'er the surging foam.