THE

CAST-AWAY SHIP.

The subjects of the two following Poems were suggested by the loss of the Blenheim, commanded by Sir Thomas Trowbridge, which was separated from the vessels under its convoy, during a storm, in the Indian Ocean.-The Admiral's son afterwards made a voyage, without success, in search of his father.-Trowbridge was one of Nelson's captains at the Battle of the Nile, but his ship unfortunately ran a-ground as he was bearing down on the enemy.

A VESSEL sailed from Albion's shore,

To utmost India bound;

Its crest a hero's pendant bore,

With broad sea-laurels crown'd

In many a fierce and noble fight,

Though foil'd on that Egyptian night,
When Gallia's host was drown'd,

And NELSON o'er his country's foes,
Like the destroying angel rose.

A gay and gallant company,

With shouts that rend the air,

For warrior-wreaths upon the sea,

Their joyful brows prepare;

But many a maiden's sigh was sent,

And many a mother's blessing went,

And many a father's prayer,

With that exulting ship to sea,

With that undaunted company.

The deep, that, like a cradled child,

In breathing slumber lay,

More warmly blush'd, more sweetly smiled,

As rose the kindling day;

Through ocean's mirror, dark and clear,

Reflected skies and clouds appear

In morning's rich array;

The land is lost, the waters glow,

'Tis heaven above, around, below.

Majestic o'er the sparkling tide,

See the tall vessel sail,

With swelling wings, in shadowy pride,

A swan before the gale;

Deep-laden merchants rode behind;

-But, fearful of the fickle wind,

Britannia's cheek grew pale,

When, lessening through the flood of light, Their leader vanish'd from her sight.

Oft had she hail'd its trophied prow,

Victorious from the war,

And banner'd masts, that would not bow,

Though riv'n with many a scar;

Oft had her oaks their tribute brought,

To rib its flanks, with thunder fraught;

But late her evil star

Had cursed it on its homeward way,

The spoiler shall become the prey.'

Thus warn'd, Britannia's anxious heart Throbb'd with prophetic woe,

When she beheld that ship depart,

A fair ill-omen'd show!

So views the mother, through her tears,

The daughter of her hopes and fears,

When hectic beauties glow

On the frail cheek, where sweetly bloom

The roses of an early tomb.

No fears the brave adventurers knew;

Peril and death they spurn'd;

Like full-fledged eagles forth they flew ; Jove's birds, that proudly burn'd,

G

In battle-hurricanes to wield

His lightnings on the billowy field;

And many a look they turn'd

O'er the blue waste of waves, to spy

A Gallic ensign in the sky.

But not to crush the vaunting foe,

In combat on the main,

Nor perish by a glorious blow,

In mortal triumph slain,

Was their unutterable fate;

That story would the Muse relate,

The song might rise in vain ;

In Ocean's deepest, darkest bed

The secret slumbers with the dead.

On India's long-expecting strand
Their sails were never furl'd;

Never on known or friendly land,

By storms their keel was hurl'd;

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