Poems (Toke)/The meeting ships
WIFT bounding o'er the shoreless tide, A gallant bark sweeps on,And seems as if in conscious pride She walks the waves alone.She spreads her white wings to the wind, And dashes through the foam,As blithe as if she left behind No friendly heart or home.
THE MEETING SHIPS.
WIFT bounding o'er the shoreless tide, A gallant bark sweeps on,And seems as if in conscious pride She walks the waves alone.She spreads her white wings to the wind, And dashes through the foam,As blithe as if she left behind No friendly heart or home.And yet, of all the forms she bears Across the boundless main,How few shall gaze through joyful tears On England's cliffs again!In Eastern climes, far, far away, On India's burning shore,Lull many a heart, now glad and gay, Must sleep to wake no more.
Yet on, ye hopeful hearts, and thou, Our gallant ship, speed on;Amid the world of waters now, Thou art not all alone.—For lo! a speck upon the wave Attracts each gazing eye:It nears, and now a bark as brave As that she meets draws nigh.
A homeward bound! right merrily She ploughs the stormy main,With many a heart that yearns to see Fair Albion's shores again.Returning from that distant land, Where toilsome years had sped,They meet the gallant exile band, Bound the same path to tread.
They meet upon the boundless waste, The melancholy sea,And one short hour of converse past, Speed onward and away.Brief words exchanged, kind greetings said, Each, as she hastens on,And sees the other slowly fade, Feels doubly now alone.
Sudden they met, too soon to part,— Yet still that social hourHas stirred the depths of many a heart With deep and 'whelming power;The homeward bound still lingers there, And blent with struggling sighs,Man's blessing, woman's tearful prayer, Breathe on her as she flies.
Does she not seek their Fatherland, Far o'er the ocean foam,—Friends, country, all the cherished band That cluster round their home? Oh! as the wanderers watch, how fast She bounds upon her way,The seaboy on her rocking mast Seems happier far than they.
No marvel that Hope flies awhile Those scenes she strewed with flowers,And Memory's mingling tear and smile, Be-light departed hours;No marvel that the eastern skies, So bright to fancy's dreams,Should fade as wakening thoughts arise Of England's woods and streams.
'Tis past! Upon th' horizon's verge The last faint shadow dies,And now the wide unbroken surge Blends with the meeting skies;Evening comes down upon the deep, From storm or ruffle free,And calm as infant's dreamless sleep, Night falls upon the sea.
Rest, wanderers, rest in peace once more, Rocked on the billows' foam,And dream, amid the ocean roar, Of loved ones and of home.And oh! when youth is on the wane, And life's green leaves are sere,May ye return in peace again, To all on earth most dear.
E.
December, 1836.