THE CASTAWAY.

MARCH 20, 1799.

|BSCUREST night involved the sky,
The Atlantic billows roared,
When such a destined wretch as I,
Washed headlong from on board,
Of friends, of hope, of all bereft,
His floating home forever left.

No braver chief could Albion boast
Than he with whom he went,
Nor ever ship left Albion's coast
With warmer wishes sent.

He loved them both, but both in vain ;
Nor him beheld, nor her again.

Not long beneath the whelming brine
Expert to swim, he lay;

Nor soon he felt his strength decline,
Or courage die away;

But waged with death a lasting strife,
Supported by despair of life.

He shouted; nor his friends had failed

To check the vessel's course,
But so the furious blast prevailed,
That pitiless perforce

They left their outcast mate behind,
And scudded still before the wind.

Some succor yet they could afford;
And, such as storms allow,

The cask, the coop, the floated cord,
Delayed not to bestow :

But he, they knew, nor ship nor shore,
Whate'er they gave, should visit more.

Nor, cruel as it seemed, could he
Their haste himself condemn,
Aware that flight, in such a sea,
Alone could rescue them;

Yet bitter felt it still to die
Deserted, and his friends so nigh.

He long survives, who lives an hour
In ocean, self-upheld :

And so long he, with unspent power,
His destiny repelled;

And ever, as the minutes flew,
Entreated help, or cried, “Adieu !”

At length, his transient respite past,
His comrades, who before

Had heard his voice in every blast,

Could catch the sound no more :
For then, by toil subdued, he drank
The stifling wave, and then he sank.

No poet wept him; but the page
Of narrative sincere,

That tells his name, his worth, his age,
Is wet with Anson's tear:

And tears by bards or heroes shed
Alike immortalize the dead.

I therefore purpose not, or dream,
Descanting on his fate,

To give the melancholy theme
A more enduring date:

But misery still delights to trace
Its semblance in another's case.

No voice divine the storm allayed,
No light propitious shone,

When, snatched from all effectual aid,
We perished, each alone :

But I beneath a rougher sea,

And whelmed in deeper gulfs than he.

LINES

ON OBSERVING SOME NAMES OF LITTLE NOTE RECORDED IN THE BIOGRAPHIA BRITANNICA.

fond attempt to give a deathless lot To names ignoble, born to be forgot! In vain recorded in historic page, They court the notice of a future age: Those twinkling, tiny lustres of the land Drop one by one from Fame's neglecting hand;

Lethæan gulfs receive them as they fall,
And dark oblivion soon absorbs them all.

So when a child, as playful children use, Has burnt to tinder a stale last year's news, The flame extinct, he views the roving fire,There goes my lady, and there goes the squire,

There goes the parson,―O illustrious spark! And there, scarce less illustrious, goes the clerk.

ON THE LOSS OF THE ROYAL
GEORGE.

OLL for the brave!

The brave that are no more! All sunk beneath the wave, Fast by their native shore !

Eight hundred of the brave,
Whose courage well was tried,
Had made the vessel heel,
And laid her on her side.

A land-breeze shook the shrouds,
And she was over-set ;
Down went the Royal George,
With all her crew complete.

Toll for the brave!

Brave Kempenfelt is gone;