| | | Obscurest night involved the sky, |
| | | The Atlantic billows roared, |
| | | When such a destined wretch as I, |
| | | Washed headlong from on board, |
| 5 | | Of friends, of hope, of all bereft, |
| | | His floating home for ever left. |
| | | |
| | | No braver Chief could Albion boast |
| | | Than He with whom he went, |
| | | Nor ever ship left Albion’s coast |
| 10 | | 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; |
| 15 | | 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 fail’d |
| 20 | | To check the vessel’s course, |
| | | But so the furious blast prevail’d, |
| | | That, pitiless perforce, |
| | | They left their outcast mate behind, |
| | | And scudded still before the wind. |
| | | | |
| 25 | | Some succour 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, |
| 30 | | 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; |
| 35 | | 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 pow’r, |
| 40 | | His destiny repell’d; |
| | | And ever, as the minutes flew, |
| | | Entreated help, or cried ’Adieu!’ |
| | | |
| | | At length, his transient respite past, |
| | | His comrades, who before |
| 45 | | 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 |
| 50 | | 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 immortalise the dead. |
| | | |
| 55 | | 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 |
| 65 | | Its semblance in another’s case. |
| | | |
| | | No voice divine the storm allay’d, |
| | | No light propitious shone, |
| | | When, snatched from all effectual aid, |
| | | We perish’d, each, alone; |
| 65 | | But I, beneath a rougher sea, |
| | | And whelmed in deeper gulphs than he. |
First published 1799.
Contributed by Robert Clark.
