Poems (Welby)/The Captive Sailor-Boy
THE CAPTIVE SAILOR BOY.
The light of many stars Quivers in tremulous softness on the air, And the night-breeze is singing here and there, Yet from my prison-bars A narrow strip of sky is all I see—O! that some kindly hand would set me free!
The bright new moon is hung Up 'mid the softness of the fleecy clouds,And the far ocean 'neath its foamy shrouds Thrills like a harp fresh strung, And the wild sea-birds on quick pinions flee—O! for one glance upon the deep blue sea!
Why should the young and brave Be fettered thus upon the fresh green earth? Give me one hour beside my mother's hearth, And then for ocean's wave! Free as the laughing billows I would toss—O! for the swift wing of the albatros!
When slumber waves her wandOver my brow, I wander in my dreamsClose by the ripples of our soft blue streams Far in my native land,And lovely visions o'er my eye-lids play!that I could but dream my life away!
I see my mother then;A pleasant smile sleeps on her features fair,And the low cadence of her whispered prayer Steals on my ear again,As when I knelt beside her blessed knee—Mother, sweet Mother, dost thou pray for me?
Upon the summer roseNature's faint pencilings are softly seen,Laid on with cunning hand, and bright and green, Where the wood-branches closeThe honey-suckle wreathes our cottage eaves—Alas! I may not sit beneath its leaves!
Before I sought the sea,I used to wander with my sister sweet,And many a winding path our little feet Made round the old oak tree,Where in the sunshine we were wont to play—And they are there—but I am far away!
O! could I only rideUpon the ocean where the wild winds meet,
And where the sea-shell singeth passing sweet Under the trembling tide, The demon of the storms I would not fear—But O! I am a fettered captive here!
O! could I see my home If but to kiss my sister's cheek once more, And hear thee, Mother, bless me o'er and o'er! For then not e'en my doom Could dim thy truant's laughter-loving eye—Alas! without thy blessing I must die!
Die in this dreary cell, With no fond ear to catch my parting breath; In bondage I must wrestle here with death, Without one sweet farewell From lips, that oft have smiled on me in joy—Alas! sweet Mother, for thy captive boy!