BETA

The Wrecked Mariner.

Stay, proud bird of the shore !1
Carry my last breath with thee to the cliff—2
Where waits our shattered skiff,3
One that shall mark nor it nor lover more.4
Fan, with thy plumage bright,5
Her heaving heart to rest, as thou dost mine,6
And, gently to divine7
The tearful tale, flap out her beacon light.8
Again swoop out to sea,9
With lone and lingering wail, then lay thy
head,10
As thou thyself wert dead,11
Upon her breast that she may weep for me.12
Now, let her bid false Hope13
For ever hide her beam, nor trust again14
The peace-bereaving strain—15
Life has, but still far hence, choice flowers
to crop.16
Oh !  bid her not repine,17
And deem my loss too bitter to be borne ;18
Yet all of passion scorn,19
But the mild, deepening memory of mine.20
Thou art away !— sweet wind,21
Bear the last trickling tear-drop on your
wing,22
And o’er her bosom fling23
The love-fraught pearly shower, till rest it
find.24