One morn, when fairly fledged for flight,
Blithe Lucy, on her visit, found
What seem'd a necklace, glittering bright,
Twined round the nest, twined round and round,
With emeralds, pearls, and sapphires set,
Rich as my lady's coronet.
She stretch'd her hand to seize the prize,
When up a serpent popt its head,
But glid like wild-fire from her eyes,
Hissing and rustling as it fled;
She utter'd one short shrilling scream,
Then stood, as startled from a dream.
Her brother Tom, who long had known
That something drew her feet that way,
Curious to catch her there alone,
Had follow'd her that fine May-day;
-Lucy, bewilder'd by her trance,
Came to herself at his first glance.
Then in her eyes sprang welcome tears;
They fell as showers in April fall;
He kiss'd her, coax'd her, soothed her fears,
Till she in frankness told him all :
-Tom was a bold, adventurous boy,
And heard the dreadful tale with joy.
For he had learnt,-in some far land,—
How children catch the sleeping snake;
Eager himself to try his hand,
He cut a hazel from the brake,
And like a hero set to work,
To make a lithe, long-handled fork.
Brother and sister then withdrew,
Leaving the nestlings safely there ; Between their heads the mother flew,
Prompt to resume her nursery care: But Tom, whose breast for glory burn'd, In less than half an hour return'd.
With him came Ned, as cool and sly
As Tom was resolute and stout;
So, fair and softly, they drew nigh,
Cowering and keeping sharp look-out,
Till they had reach'd the copse,-—to see,
But not alarm the enemy.
Guess, with what transport they descried,
How, as before, the serpent lay
Coil'd round the nest, in slumbering pride ;-
The urchins chuckled o'er their prey,
And Tom's right hand was lifted soon,
Like Greenland whaler's with harpoon.
Across its neck the fork he brought,
And pinn'd it fast upon the ground;
The reptile woke, and quick as thought
Curl'd round the stick, curl'd round and round;
While, head and tail, Ned's nimble hands
Tied at each end, with pack-thread bands.
Scarce was the enemy secured,
When Lucy timidly drew near,
But by their shouting well assured,
Eyed the green captive void of fear;
The lads, stark wild with victory, flung
Their caps aloft,—they danced, they sung.
But Lucy, with an anxious look,
Turn'd to her own dear nest, when lo!
To legs and wings the young ones took,
Hopping and tumbling to and fro;
The parents chattering from above
With all the earnestness of love.
Alighting now among their train,
They peck'd them on new feats to try;
But many a lesson seem'd in vain,
Before the giddy things would fly;
Lucy both laugh'd and cried, to see
How ill they play'd at liberty.
I need not tell the snake's sad doom,
You may be sure he lived not long;
Cork'd in a bottle for a tomb,
Preserved in spirits and in song,
His skin in Tom's museum shines,
You read his story in these lines.
The subjects of the 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 Sail'd 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 clouds and skies 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 winds 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 riven 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 wo,
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
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;
Their native soil no more they trod,
They rest beneath no hallow'd sod;
Throughout the living world,
This sole memorial of their lot
Remains, they were, and they are not.
The spirit of the Cape* pursued
Their long and toilsome way;
At length, in ocean-solitude,
He sprang upon his
"Havoc!" the shipwreck-demon cried,
Loosed all his tempests on the tide,
Gave all his lightnings play;
*The Cape of Good Hope, formerly called the Cape of Storms.-See Camoen's Lusiad, book v.
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