Stick to thy post, and leave these things to men. I trust, my friends, before we sail again, To touch at Egypt, Cyprus, or the north, And having learnt meantime our prisoner's worth, What friends he has, and wealth to what amount, To turn this god-send to a right account.' He said; and hauling up the sail and mast, Its green arms tossing to the pranksome gale; But now the crew call'd out To shore! To shore!' When, leaping backward with an angry roar, His glaring eyes beneath the hatches burn'd: Heap'd at the stern, and scrambling all along, The God then turning to the Master, broke In happy-making smiles, and stoutly spoke : 'Be of good courage, blest companion mine; Bacchus am I, the roaring God of Wine; And well shall this day be, for thee and thine.' And so, all reverence and all joy to thee, Son of the sparkle-smiling Semele ! Must never bard forget thee in his song, Who mak'st it flow so sweetly and so strong. SONNETS. I. TO THOMAS BARNES, ESQ. WRITTEN FROM HAMPSTEAD. DEAR BARNES, whose native taste, solid and clear, With thousand tiny hushings, like the swarm Or noise of numerous bliss from distant sphere. This charm our evening hours duly restore,— Or watch-dog, or the ring of frosty road. Wants there no other sound then?-Yes, one more,— The voice of friendly visiting, long owed. II. TO HAMPSTEAD. SWEET upland, to whose walks with fond repair In thy green lanes, brown dells, and breezy skies, Wait then my coming, on that lightsome land, Health, and the Joy that out of nature springs, And Freedom's air-blown locks ;-but stay with me, Friendship, frank entering with the cordial hand, Surrey Jail, Aug. 27, 1813. |