by P. Edwards.
Originally published in The Literary Chronicle and Weekly Review (J. Sidebetmem) vol.1 #7 (03 Jul 1819).
The moon arose at lone midnight,
While health and toil were blest with sleep,
And threw a wavy path of light
O'er the broad bosom of the deep,
To where poor Anna pac'd the shore
Th' impressive ideas to renew,
When the tall ship her Edward bore
From vision, less'ning, fail'd from view.
Fair moon, she cried, is woe complete,
Or sails my true love, peril free;
Ah! canst thou shew my Edward yet
With truth and love reflects on me?
She scarce had ceas'd, ere rocky clouds
And rising winds spread thro' the sky;
The wrathful tempest came with shouts,
And dash'd the mountain billows by.
Incessant lightning cleft the gloom,
And spread the vaulted ocean o'er;
A lab'ring vessel met its doom,
And sunk with all to rise no more.
A direful shriek the seamen gave,
As o'er the boiling surges broke;
And from the yawning wat'ry grave,
She thought it was her Edward spoke.
What can display her state of soul,
Oppress'd with sore prophetic dread;
When, swift as gleamy meteors roll,
The unsubstantial vision fled;
Again serene the moon appear'd,
Again all smooth and still the main;
No thunder growl'd, no lightning scar'd,
No winds were heard, nor pelting rain.
With cheerless heart she left the strand,
Forlorn she gain'd her lonely cot;
Felt fate would have her understand,
From awful symbols, Edward's lot;
At morn, at eve, hope ne'er again
Illumin'd her once joyous eye;
She sketch'd, with truth, the phantom scene,
And o'er it wept perpetually.
At length a way-lorn seaman came,
Who seem'd all loath from whence to say,
And gave a note for Anna's name,
Whose sable signet caus'd dismay.
Her friends receiv'd it, and with haste,
Which yet they dreaded to undo,
They shew'd the tar what Ann had trac'd,
Whose hollow voice declar'd it true.
From them, ere long, the tar withdrew,
And, as he came, so seem'd to go;
But Anna's unobstructed view
Compriz'd a horrid scene of woe;
A rushing horror seiz'd her blood,
A gleamy light around ensu'd;
The seaman's garb display'd a shroud,
And she the corpse of Edward view'd.
Oh, faithful fair! thy love and truth
Have call'd me from that realm of rest,
Where change ne'er comes, nor age, nor youth,
Nor rageful passions rive the breast.
I do not come to recocile
Thine agonized soul with dust;
Bethink thee, Anna, how the guile
Of vanity, my hopes accurst.
It was to deck my fair with gems,
In India's silks her charms to show;
To realize my golden dreams,
I hazarded this train of woe.
I thought the bird of paradise
Should not transcend my fair withal;
Ah! why on joys place happiness?
Why build up Babel tow'rs to fall?
Why did I crave parade and wealth,
Against thy modest wish to join;
With competence I'd strength and health,
And fair and faithful thou wast mine,
Then quit this vain uncertain shore,
Where tears e'er flow and sorrow lives;
Where lamentations heard e'er more,
And the sure ranker worm aggrieves.
Then from thy soul exclude despair,
Thy days are number'd—nearly past;
He said and fled, as on her chair
She sank, reclined, and breath'd her last;
But ere she died, her fixing eye
Afar the spectre seem'd to see;
She cried, ere came the parting sigh,
Oh! Edward, Edward, stay for me.
Hoxton Old Town.