186
MARITORNE; OR, THE PIRATE OF MEXICO.
Till when the hour. of darkness gathers, then
The sunbeam fades, the ice grows dim again.
He had a friend, one on whom fancy's eye
Had deeply, rashly stamped fidelity:
Traitor had better seemed—worm—viper—aught—
The vilest, veriest wretch e'er named in thought;
For he was sin's own son, and all that e'er
Angels above may hate or mortals fear.
There was a fascination in his eye
Which those who felt, might seek in vain to fly.
There was a blasting glance of mockery there;
There was a calm, contemptuous, biting sneer
Forever on his lip, which made men fear,
And, fearing, shun him, as a bird will shun
A gilded bait, though glittering in the sun;
But still the mask of friendship he could wear;
The smile, the warm professions all were there;
Let him who trusts to these alone, beware!
A lurking devil may be crouching there.
Shame on mankind that they will stoop to use
Wiles which the imps of darkness would refuse.
Henceforth let friendship drop her robes of light,
And following desolation's blasting flight
······
······
There paced the Pirate Chief with giant stride,
Deep chorus keeping to the Mexic tide;
His sable plumes were hovering o'er his brow,
As if to hide the depth of thought below.
He paused—'twas but the dashing of the spray;
Again! 'twas but the night-watch on his way.
The sunbeam fades, the ice grows dim again.
He had a friend, one on whom fancy's eye
Had deeply, rashly stamped fidelity:
Traitor had better seemed—worm—viper—aught—
The vilest, veriest wretch e'er named in thought;
For he was sin's own son, and all that e'er
Angels above may hate or mortals fear.
There was a fascination in his eye
Which those who felt, might seek in vain to fly.
There was a blasting glance of mockery there;
There was a calm, contemptuous, biting sneer
Forever on his lip, which made men fear,
And, fearing, shun him, as a bird will shun
A gilded bait, though glittering in the sun;
But still the mask of friendship he could wear;
The smile, the warm professions all were there;
Let him who trusts to these alone, beware!
A lurking devil may be crouching there.
Shame on mankind that they will stoop to use
Wiles which the imps of darkness would refuse.
Henceforth let friendship drop her robes of light,
And following desolation's blasting flight
······
······
There paced the Pirate Chief with giant stride,
Deep chorus keeping to the Mexic tide;
His sable plumes were hovering o'er his brow,
As if to hide the depth of thought below.
He paused—'twas but the dashing of the spray;
Again! 'twas but the night-watch on his way.
