Poems (Campbell)/The Storm

by Dorothea Primrose Campbell

For works with similar titles, see Storm.

THE STORM.

Far on the ocean's lonely bed
 Where rude Orcadean Islands lie,
In nature's wilddest robe array'd,
 Beneath an ever-clouded sky;

Where round each coast, with hollow roar,
 The rude winds keep their viewless court;
Where ceaseless billows dash the shore,
 And spirits of the storm resort;

On wild North-Mavin's rocky beach,
 Poor Eric's lowly cottage stood,
And brav'd alike the fearful reach
 Of howling winds and foaming flood.

His Tamir, partner of his joys,
 Of all his grief, and all his care—
His elder hopes, two hardy boys—
 The infants prattling round his chair—

These sooth'd his labours, cheer'd his heart;
 These bound him to his humble cot;
The noblest feelings, void of art,
 Endear'd to him the lonely spot.

Long with misfortune's gloomy train,
 And want and poverty he strove;
Yet shrunk not back from toil nor pain,
 Bless'd with these objects of his love.

Oft in his little fragile bark
 For them he roam'd the billowy tide,
And many a night, forlorn and dark,
 Upon the stormy wave would ride.

And soon his boys increas'd his store,
 For all his dangers now they shar'd;
And often to the wand'ring poor
 Their scanty pittance have they spa'd.r

Content and health his cottage bless'd,
 And plenty still his labour crown'd;
Calm pleasure fill'd his pious breast,
 And peace and comfort smil'd around.

But short is pleasure's fleeting day,
 And like the sun-beam on the deep
That glitters bright, then fades away,
 And leaves the trembling wretch to wee p

The weary cares of day were o'er,
 And tranquil slept the busy world;
The billows slumber'd on the shore,
 And scarce a breeze the waters curl'd.

When Eric, rous'd from happy dreams,
 Light started from the arms of rest,
And by the pale moon's glimm'ring beams
 Embark'd upon the ocean's breast.

The merry lads were at his side;
 And told him many a cheerful tale,
As swiftly o'er th' unruffled tide
 Soft zephyrs waft their swelling sail.

The morning rose with smiles serene;
 They set their lines with anxious care,
And joyful hail'd the prosp'rous scene;
 The deep so still, the heav'ns so fair.

And fair the distant landscape seem'd,
 While yet the radiant sun on high
Far o'er the glassy ocean stream'd,
 And blaz'd amid the azure sky.

The awful calm that breath'd around,
 As if all nature's pulse were still,—
The silence broke not by a sound,—
 With pious awe their bosoms fill.

But soon that awe was chang'd to dread,
 When rush'd the tempest wild and loud,
For sudden storm began to spread,
 And lightnings darted from the cloud.

The rolling thunder peal'd afar;
 In rushing torrents fell the rain;
The jarring elements at war,
 With horrid tumult shook the main.

All-gracious Heav'n! avert their doom;—
 They drive before th' unsparing gale;
Still darker frowns the gath'ring gloom,
 And ev'ry cheek is deadly pale.

Close to his panting heart, the sire
 With anguish press'd his hopes, his pride—
Quick flash'd across the blue-wing'd fire,
 And laid them breathless at his side!

"My boys! my boys!" he madly cries,
 While louder still the tempest blows:
On the wild winds his voice but dies;
 They only mock the father's woes.

The boat is whelm'd amid the wave;
 Dark horror sits on Eric's soul—
"My wife, my babes! Almighty! save"———
 He sinks,—the surges round him roll.

Oh! soft may hapless Eric rest
 Upon his coral grave reclin'd;
And mingling with the sainted blest
 His spirit mount upon the wind!

But who shall hush his Tamir's sighs,
 And rear his little helpless train?
Oh! who shall stay their orphan-cries?
 Or who relieve their wants and pain?

No more the heart-broke Tamir joys
 To see them happy, blythe, and gay;
No household care her hand employs—
 But all is ruin and dismay!

Oft on the shore with aching brow
 She marks the angry billows' rave;;
And weeps for him who silent now
 Lies cold beneath the distant wave.

May Charity, with aspect bland,
 Some mild angelic form assume,
And shed sweet blessings from her hand,
 To mitigate the mourner's doom.