Trips of the Lily of Bonchurch. Trip the First. Wherein the Lily goes to Portsmouth in rough weather, and comports herself gallantly. 1. The moon looks wild, but heed it not, my boat is in the bay, The tide lies fair, the wind’s our own, up canvass and away ! Hoist every stitch ! she’ll bear it all—e’en now she feels the strain, Her bow dips deep, then up she springs, and o’er the floods amain. 2. Off in a shower from her broad bows the baffled wave she throws, And o’er the wave, and through the wave, right gallantly she goes ; We’ve pass’d the Cook * with jagged point—East Dene’s already pass’d ; Our shadow, like a white-wing’d bird, on Luccombe’s cove we cast. 3. Hurrah ! the Yellow Ledge we’ve reach’d, and through the Race we drive, The breakers coil, and bubble, and hiss—the sea seems all alive ; But on she goes, my Lily fair, a queen o’er the wild sea, It seems as if she loved the strife, so buoyant is her glee. 4. Now Shanklin bay is o’er our stern, its shore is foamy white, The wind is fresh’ning—scarce yon gull can mate us in our flight ; See, Sandown soon is left behind, and eastward still I steer, Where round the frowning Culver’s base yon angry waves you hear. 5. The wind is piping on our beam—it freshens to a gale ; Cheer up ! the Lily loves the storm, spare not an inch of sail ; I’m prouder here her course to steer, and feel her ’neath me spring, Than that I were a belted earl, or an anointed king ! 6. But Bembridge ledge we’ve weather’d close, and bright before us spread There’s many a gallant ship, I ween, hard anchor’d at Spithead. Proud tamers of the subject sea ! my heart leaps up in pride, As your stately shadows come and go upon the weltering tide. 7. Your flag has waved in every clime ;—where, wafted many a mile, Comes the sweet scent of summer flowers from some fair Indian isle ; It waved where chilly icebergs float ’mid Greenland’s ceaseless surge, And where the tortured Baltic howls ’neath Winter’s icy scourge. 8. Pour’d ye the thunder of your power where bold St Vincent led ? Was yours the might that crown’d with light intrepid Rodney’s head ? Was yours the rush of mighty wings that sounded through the sky, When Nelson gave to Trafalgar the name that cannot die ? 9. Athwart the brine, in snowy line, on, on my Lily flies, Oh ! not more stately bounds the deer where Athole’s forests rise— The harbour’s mouth we’ve gain’d, my lads ! down canvass ! bear a hand ; Quick ! slack the sheets !—she touches now !—I spring on Portsmouth strand ! Trip the Second. Wherein the Lily proceedeth in quest of what seemed from the Shore to be a Shipwrecked Mariner. 1. All day a silence stern and deep Hath lain on land and sea ; Ye may not hear a rustle creep Through leafiest bush or tree ; The anchor’d vessels seem asleep, So motionless they be. 2. There’s not a cloud in all the sky, The sun shines bright and clear ; Hour after hour goes fleeting by, And yet no sound ye hear ; Hush’d and expectant earth doth lie As some dread thing were near. 3. Night comes—and with mysterious sound, While not a wave is stirr’d, There rises in the calm profound, As by enchanter’s word, A voice, as if the storm unbound In howling rage were heard. 4. In Bonchurch bay the flowing tide Is calm as inland lake ; In Ventnor cove the waters glide Without a heave or break ; There’s not a breath in Sandown wide Its sleeping might to wake. 5. Round Rocken End, from Chale’s far shore, The horrid sound is borne ; Well know the seamen from the roar, ’Twill be a gale ere morn : Hoist every sail ! ply every oar ! Such warning none may scorn. 6. The tempest downward rush’d at last, Like eagle on its prey ; And struck the sea with pinions vast, And shouted as in play, As the big waves rose wild and fast, And terror mark’d his way. 7. The moon rose up at midnight hour, And shed a feeble light ; The darksome waters scor’d her power In their tumultuous fight— Save where, like beacon from a tower, She shed a streak of light— 8. A narrow streak of ghastly grey Athwart the weltering deep :— Of God ! there’s something takes its way, With wild unsteady leap, Across that line, where breakers play And mountain billows sweep. 9. A moment seen ; but the shadows dark That brood on either side, Suddenly swallow’d up the bark, And she no more is spied— No ear, no eye her course to mark On the stormy waters wide ! 10. God help you, gallant mariners ! Your bark can hardly rise, Dash’d by each billow as it rears Its crest of giant size : Masts are gone—no helmsman steers— All like a log she lies. 11. That night my straw-roof’d cottage shook Beneath the tempest’s blows ; The stately elms that guard my nook Crash’d as it wilder rose— And the chafed sea leapt, as it could not brook The barrier of Dunnose. 12. Up the tall cliff it strove to climb, And backward fell in rage, Like tiger gaunt in wrath sublime That beats against its cage, And leaps and howls, till conquering Time Doth his wild ire assuage. 13. So ceased the sea. When morning shone The sky was calm and clear ; But the wild waves kept tumbling on In their quick and fierce career ; For though the tempest’s voice was gone, His might seem’d waiting near. 14. There’s something moves — a mile from land— It welters o’er the flood ; ’Tis a wreck’d man ! he waves his hand ! He floats on log of wood ! Quick ! launch the Lily down the strand ! Heed not the breakers rude. 15. The Lily through the breakers flies, By four stout oarsmen plied ; And, watch’d by many glistening eyes, She gambols o’er the tide : But the floating man doth hardly rise, So high the billows glide. 16. ’Tis not a man—’tis tall and hard— And now we near it fast ; ’Tis but the end of a broken yard, Or the fragment of a mast ; And so, with ropes our prize to guard, To leeward we have pass’d. 17. Our lines we fix’d ; we tugg’d and tow’d, But toil was all our meed ; The tide, that still impetuous flow’d, Scarce help’d us in our need— It seem’d as if a weary load Repress’d us in our speed. 18. A weary load, as if of lead, Or some unholy thing, Some sunken vessel, where the dead Lay heap’d in ghastly ring : For at every tug the tall mast sway’d, But ever firm did cling. 19. It dipt, it bent, but upward still Sprang back with horrid bound, Spite of our utmost strength and skill We could not force it round, And at last beneath the Culver hill Our prize did take the ground. 20. Eight fathoms deep the water lay, And yet our prize stuck fast— The tide had slack’d within the bay, And westward now it pass’d, And at each new foot it ebb’d away, Still higher tower’d the mast. 21. The waves sank down, and soon ap-pear’d A topsail fully set ; And down, far down, as the water clear’d, Our eyes a vision met As of a mainsail, which uprear’d Its swelling canvass yet ! 22. The ropes hung loose, the shrouds hung free, But the yards their place had kept, And thus beneath that stormy sea, As if above’it swept, That mast with all its panoply Had with the billows leapt. 23. It was a piteous sight, I ween ; For well we guess’d the fate Of the brave ship, where it once had been So stately and elate ; And with sad hearts from that dismal scene The Lily bore us straight. Trip the Third. Wherein the Lily coasteth five miles to the Westward, and cometh home again. 1. A light south wind is blowing This gentle summer day ; And the tide is hardly flowing O’er the pebbles in the bay. The sunshine bright Sheds holy light On mount and down and lea ; Come hither, little Mary, And sail an hour with me ! 2. How slowly now we’re sliding Beneath the chalky height, And the Lily, ghostlike gliding, Seems fill’d with calm delight. The tall cliffs throw Their shade below On all the rocky strand— And we float within the shadow As we creep along the land. 3. See, Highport Ledge we’ve rounded, And the Cow-Leaze heave in sight, Fantastically mounded, And glistening in the light ; Their grassy dells And verdant swells In this sweet summer prime— ’Tis a lovely scene, my Mary, As ’twere a fairy clime. 4. There’s many a southern islet Round which ’twere bliss to sail, And our idle course to pilot, From noon till twilight pale ; Where spreading bloom And rich perfume From flow’rs of every hue, Fill’d the air with balm and beauty Such as England never knew. 5. What joy ’twould be, my daughter, Beneath that dazzling moon, To thread each winding water, And trace each deep lagoon ? Where dewless night Was clear and bright, And great stars look’d down from heav’n— Such climate, pensive Mary, Is not to England given. 6. Yet here, in these recesses, Where the east wind never blows ; And the high north Down represses December and his snows ; In Ventnor glade— In Bonchurch shade How soft the Autumn air ! And there’s many a Summer blossom In Winter’s tangled hair. 7. We’ve glided past St Lawrence, And to Puckaster we steer ; Proud Genoa ! lovely Florence ! We match your beauties here ! Our course we stay To scan the bay, And the flush of foliage deep, That spreads a fitting umbrage For some sainted hermit’s sleep. 8. Now mark, my silent Mary, As the helm’s aside inclined, The boat its motion vary As she falls off from the wind ; The light breeze blows— The Lily goes With a step as soft and slow, As the mystic shapes in cloudland, That flit dimly to and fro. 9. Again we’re eastward veering, Where calm St Lawrence lies, Like some quiet nest appearing Where the bird for safety flies ; See Ventnor spire, ’Tis tipt with fire In the sun’s unclouded ray ; And again Highport we’ve rounded, And east anchor in the bay. Trip the Fourth. Wherein the Lily visiteth a stranded Ship. 1. The cheeriest spot in all the earth, The happiest nook of all to me, Is by mine own familiar hearth, When storms are on the sea. Loud let the tempests howl, we give no heed— No argosies are ours propitious gales to need. 2. The sea sings gloriously for aye Its own wild triumph song of pow’r ; Tempest or calm it knows no stay, Mid-day nor midnight hour : In the great voice we live—it girds us round As doth the vital air—an atmosphere of sound. 3. It seems as if it fill’d my heart ; For if, perchance, I inland roam, Never one moment will depart That glorious voice of home— My spirit is subdued by it ; I crave Needful as food or rest that murmuring of the wave. 4. Ye dwellers by the silent lakes, Where the dull waters lifeless lie, And when the wind its fury wakes Utter no sound nor cry— Speak they their rage in thunder ? and their glee In passionate laughter hoarse, like the rejoicing sea ? 5. With life, with soul the sea is fraught— I’ve seen its countenance grow dim, Darken’d by some most cruel thought, As might some tyrant’s grim— Some Alva, when the shape of murder first O’ershadow’d his pale cheek, as from his heart it burst. 6. In its fierce joy it seems to scoff ; When its quick ear hath caught the roar Of battling hurricanes far off On mid- Atlantic’s floor, It feels the stormy tremor of their wrath, And rears its crested waves ere yet they’ve cross’d its path, 7. Sleep on, the sated serpent falls, And sleep falls on the wearied main ; And though the wind its challenge calls, It answers not again : ’Neath the high shadowing ledge it loves to lie, And on the rock-strewn shore waves sing its lullaby. 8. One night, on its uneasy bed, Our ocean grimly slept and heaved ; And oer its clammy face was spread A mist, so thickly weaved Ye could not pierce its woof—it cover’d all, As Ocean had been dead, and this had been its pall. 9. I sat within my chimney nook, With a bright fire—of books a store ; A man rush’d in, with startled look— “ A great ship’s come ashore ! Close to the cliff she lies—we heard the sound, As ’mid the rocks she came, and now she’s fast aground !” 10. “ Rouse Bonchurch up !—no moment waste— Bring lights,” I cried, “ and man the boat !” And down I rush’d in breathless haste— The Lily rock’d afloat ! Six gallant lads jump’d in, and round she flew, Piercing the vapoury mist, and instant hid from view. 11. Impetuous o’er the shingly beach I struggled onward to Dunnose, And strain’d my eyes the ship to reach, But not an object rose— And yet so close she lay, we heard the sound Of seamen’s trampling feet winding the capstan round. 12. Voices we heard, but nought we saw, So thick the mist around her fell ; It fill’d our beating hearts with awe, For soon we mark’d full well The tide was ebbing fast ;—and there she lay, By rocks encompass’d round, to wait the coming day. 13. If but a ripple lightly rise— If but the gentlest south wind blow ; In that same hour a wreck she lies— Down the brave ship must go ! But hark ! the boat has near’d her, shouts we hear, Our men have reach’d the deck, and see, it ’gins to clear ! 14. Slowly, like mighty curtain raised To give some dreaded thing to view, Uprose the mist ; and, as we gazed, Clearer and clearer grew The outline of a vessel, looming vast, With all her canvass set, with sails on every mast. 15. Like phantom of a ship it seems, Draped in its solemn mist and cloud ; How glimmer ’neath the lanthorn’s gleams White sail and dripping shroud ! But lo ! like spectre pale, that mocks our fears, It folds its mantle round, and slowly disappears. 16. All night the Lily round her plied, To aid that vessel in her need— Six gallants staid on board, and vied In zeal and perilous deed— Toiling to warp her off, to clear the sails, Aiding the o’erwearied crew—but nought their strength avails. 17. Next morning, when the early sun Did first Dunnose’s summit tip, And the flood-tide began to run In ripples round the ship, Breathless we watch’d its rise, as streak by streak It clomb the vessel’s side, with efforts slow and weak. 18. Her floatage-marks it reaches now, XI. and XII. are cover’d o’er— See! there’s a tremble in her bow, Oh ! for six inches more ! Hoist the great anchors out ! and strive and strain ! Row, gallant boatmen, row, the vessel heaves again ! 19. Useless is all their strength—they fail To float her from that rocky bed ; And now the sea with many a sail (So quick the news has spread) Is dotted, as round Bembridge Point they crowd— And bright shines forth the sun—the sky’s without a cloud. 20. Oh, lovely from the upland height To watch the busy scene below !— The ship embay’d, while, like a flight Of bright birds, to and fro Boats of white sail and devious course draw near, And on the monster gaze, and pause in their career. 21. So might the wondering birds draw nigh To gaze upon their wounded king, Doom’d on some lonely rock to lie, Powerless of beak and wing, Turning despairing eyes, grown faint and dim, To the blue depths of air, now free to all but him. 22. But see ! where eager in its haste, Like vulture hurrying to the fray, On steam-sped wings, (whose might is traced By flashing foam and spray,) A strong bark hither comes ;—within an hour The flood will reach its height, the ship will feel its power ! 23. The water rose—the giant urged His fiery strength, and shook the sea With ominous shrieks, and onward surg’d Like wild steed, rushing free— Strain’d are the cables huge, the vessel reels— She moves ! she moves ! new life in every plank she feels ! 24. Down from the rock in joy she glides, And follows in the giant’s wake ; And light she skims above the tides Upon her bows that break ! What thoughts were yours, O sailors ! when that night You heard the tempest rage, and saw the breakers white ?