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Returning home to greet once moreHis lov'd and long-lost native shore,And fly to her whose image dearIn ev'ry toil had yet been near;Like some attending angel-pow'rHad sooth'd him in each fearful hour,When battle rag'd, or hurtling stormHowl'd o'er the vessel's dusky form,And still had cheer'd with sacred beamHis daily thought and nightly dream.A fair wind fills the swelling sails,And joy o'er ev'ry heart prevails,As on they speed to Britain's isleWhere Freedom, Peace, and Valour smile. But ah! the flatt'ring calm is o'er,—Sailors! ye see your homes no more!The demons of the storm arise,And lo! a wreck the vessel lies.In vain the trembling maid shall mourn,And chide her sailor's slow return:That hero, dash'd on rugged shore,To her, alas! returns no more,But lock'd in death's long, dreary sleep,Slumbers in the cozy deep!His grave by sea-green nymphs is deck'd,Nor shall the pensive choir neglectTo sing his requiem, sad and clear,:And soothe the Spirit wandering near;And oft when night's deep shadows lourTheir heav'n-taught melody shall pourO'er the broad ocean's stormy breast,And charm the swelling waves to rest.
