Tutbid and terrible with hail and rain,
Its blackest pinion, pour its loudening blasts
In whirlwind forth, and from their lowest depth
Upturn the world of waters. Round and round
The tortur'd fhip, at his imperious call,
Is wheel'd in dizzy whirl: her guiding helm
Breaks fhort; her mafts in crashing ruin fall;
And each rent fail flies loose in diftant air.
Now, fearful moment! o'er the foundering hull,
Half ocean heav'd, in one broad billowy curve,
Steep from the clouds with horrid fhade impends -
Ah! fave them, heaven! it bursts in deluge down
With boundless undulation. Shore and sky
Rebellow to the roar. At once engulph'd,
Weffel and crew beneath its torrent fweep
Are funk, to rife no more. Aurelius weptx
The tear unbidden dew'd his hoary cheek.
He turn'd his step; he fled the fatal scene,
And brooding, in fad filence, o'er the fight
To him alone difclos'd, his wounded heart
Pour'd out to heaven in fighs: Thy will be done,
Not mine, fupreme Disposer of Events!
But death demands a tear, and man muft feel
For human woes: the reft fubmiffion checks.
Not diftant far, where this receding bay
Looks northward on the pole, a rocky arch
Expands its felf-pois'd concave; as the gate,
Ample, and broad, and pillar'd maffy-proof,
* See Martin's voyage to St. Kilda, p. 20.
Of fome unfolding temple. On its height
Is heard the tread of daily-climbing flocks,
That, o'er the green roof spread, their fragrant food
Untended crop. As through this cavern'd path,
Involv'd in penfive thought Aurelius paft,
Struck with fad echoes from the founding vault
Remurmur'd fhrill, he ftopt, he rais'd his head;
And faw th' affembled natives in a ring,
With wonder and with pity bending o'er
A fhipwreck'd man. All-motionlefs on earth
He lay. The living luftre from his eye,
The vermil hue extinguifh'd from his check :
And in their place, on each chill feature fpread,
The fhadowy cloud and ghaftlinefs of death
With pale fuffufion fat. So looks the moon,
So faintly wan, through hovering mifts at eve,
Grey autumn's train. Faft from his hairs diftill'd
The briny wave and clofe within his grafp
Was clench'd a broken oar, as one who long
Had ftem'd the flood with agonizing breast,
And ftruggled ftrong for life. Of youthful prime
He seem'd, and built by Nature's noblest hand;
Where bold proportion, and where foftening grace,
Mix'd in each limb, and harmoniz'd his frame.
Aurelius, from the breathlefs clay, his eye
To heaven imploring rais'd: then, for he knew
That life, within her central cell retir'd,
May lurk unfeen, diminish'd but not quench'd,
He bid transport it speedy through the vale,
To his poor call that lonely stood and low,
Safe from the north beneath a sloping hill:
An antique frame, orbicular, and rais'd
On columns rude; its roof with reverend mofs
Light-fhaded o'er; its front in ivy hid,
That mantling crept aloft. With pious hand
They turn'd, they chaf'd his frozen limbs, and fum'd The vapory air with aromatic fmells:
Then, drops of fovereign efficacy, drawn
From mountain plants, within his lips infus'd.
Slow, from the mortal trance, as men from dreams 290
Of direful vifion, fhuddering he awakes:
While life, to fcarce-felt motion, faintly lifts
His fluttering pulse, and gradual o'er his cheek
The rofy current wins its refluent way.
Recovering to new pain, his eyes he turn'd
Severe on heaven, on the furrounding hills
With twilight dim, and on the croud unknown
Diffolv'd in tears around: then clos'd again,
As loathing light and life. At length, in founds
Broken and eager, from his heaving breast
Distraction spoke-Down, down with every fail.
Mercy, sweet heaven! Ha! now whole ocean fweeps
In tempeft o'er our heads-My foul's last hope!
We will not part-Help! help! yon wave, behold!
That fwells betwixt, has borne her from my fight. 305
O, for a fun to light this black abyss!
Gone-loft-for ever loft! He ceas'd. Amaze
And trembling on the pale affiftants fell:
Whom now, with greeting and the words of peace,
Aurelius bid depart. A paufe enfued,
R 3
Mute, mournful, folemn. On the stranger's face
Obfervant, anxious, hung his fix'd regard :
Watchful his ear, each murmur, every breath,
Attentive feiz'd; now eager to begin
Confoling fpeech; now doubtful to invade
The facred filence due to grief fupreme.
Then thus at laft: O from devouring feas,
By miracle efcap'd! if, with thy life,
Thy fenfe return'd, can yet difcern the Hand,
All-wonderful, that through yon raging sea,
Yon whirling weft of tempeft, led thee fafe;
That Hand divine with grateful awe confefs,
With proftrate thanks adore. When thou, alas!
Waft number'd with the dead, and clos'd within
Th' unfathom'd gulph; when human hope was fled,
And human help in vain-th' Almighty Voice,
Then bade deftruction fpare, and bade the deep
Yield up its prey: that, by his mercy fav'd,
That mercy, thy fair life's remaining race,
A monument of wonder as of love,
May justify; to all the fons of men,
Thy brethren, ever prefent in their need.
Such praise delights him most-
Some fecret anguish, fome tranfcendent woe,
Sits heavy on his heart, and from his eyes,
Through the clos'd lids, now rolls in bitter fream!
Yet, speak thy soul, afflicted as thou art!
For know, by mournful privilege 'tis mine,
Myself moft wretched and in forrow's ways
Severely train'd, to share in every pang
The wretched feel; to foothe the fad of heart;
To number tear for tear, and groan for groan,
With every fon and daughter of distress.
Speak then, and give thy labouring bofom vent:
My pity is, my friendship fhall be, thine;
To calm thy pain, and guide thy virtue back,
Through reafon's paths, to happinefs and heaven.
The hermit thus: and, after some sad pause
Of mufing wonder, thus the Man unknown.
What have I heard? - On this untravel'd fhore,
Nature's laft limit, hem'd with oceans round
Howling and harbourlefs, beyond all faith
A comforter to find! whofe language wears
The garb of civil life; a friend, whofe breaft
The gracious meltings of sweet pity move!
Amazement all! my grief to filence charm'd
Is loft in wonder-But, thou good unknown,
If woes, for ever wedded to despair,
That with no cure, are thine, behold in me
A meet companion; one whom earth and heaven
Combine to curfe; whom never future morn
Shall light to joy, nor evening with repose
Defcending fhade-O, fon of this wild world!
From focial converfe though for ever barr'd,
Though chill'd with endless winter from the pole,
Yet warm'd by goodness, form'd to tender fenfe
Of human woes, beyond what milder climes,
By fairer funs attemper'd, courtly boast;
O fay, did e'er thy breaft, in youthful life,
|
