XXIV. A SAILOR'S PAY, From the Opera of A House to be Sold. BY JAMES COBB. 1 My due a noble nation pays, (War's thunder now no more) Most do I prize my Country's praise, And least this shining store. But if a real joy I prove, In what rewards my pains; 2 Yet not alone that hope I prize, Love pictures to my heart The tears that flow'd from Mary's eyes, When fortune bade us part. Another joy my heart shall prove, In what rewards my pains; It is the hope the girl I love May share my dear-bought gains. XXV. THE BEACON. 1 THE Scene was more beautiful far to my eye Look'd pure as the Spirit had made it : The murmur rose soft, as I silently gaz'd From the dim distant isle, when the Beacon fire blaz'd Like a star in the midst of the ocean. 2 No longer the joy of the sailor boy's breast One moment I look'd from the hill's gentle slope That star of life's tremulous ocean. 3 The time is long past, and the scene is afar, In life's closing hour, when the trembling soul flies, And death stills the heart's last emotion; O then may the bright beams of mercy arise Like a star on eternity's ocean. XXVI. THE SENTINEL. 1 By day, when the sun in his bright glory glows, The Sentinel, then, upon guard takes his stand, So gallant and trim in his best suit of cloaths, His bayonet fix'd and his firelock in hand; Mid tents or on ramparts he marches his ground, Flags wave in the air, and the loud cannons roar, The trumpets and drums give their heartcheering sound, And the Sentinel, then, feels the Soldier all o'er. 2 When the evening declines, and the moon climbs the sky, And myriads of stars shine resplendent above, When the breeze but at intervals heaves a faint sigh, And no footstep, but his, is permitted to move; The Sentinel, then, to reflection gives way, His thoughts soar to Him, who the moon and stars made, Oh! can he refrain to his Maker to pray, Whose bounties, the sky, earth, and ocean pervade ? 3 But, if dark be the night, and the winds, with loud roar, Drive the labouring clouds thro' the heav'n's boundless way, If breakers are heard to lash frequent the shore, And rain pours in torrents to fight the strong spray, From his box, then, the Sentinel looks out with fear, While winds, waves, and rains Nature's beauties deform, But, amid desolation, he knows Wisdom's near, Who rides in the whirlwind, and checks the rude storm.* 4 With fear and with hope, he preserves his heart right, And patiently waits for the bright cheering dawn, Desolation and horror endure for a night, But joy will succeed it, and come with the morn.+ His moments of duty completed, he knows, That another succeeds to take charge of his post, And he, without care, may then seek his repose, And his joys be endear'd by what trouble had crost. 5 He sees in his lot but a picture of man, Sent here upon duty, a Soldier on guard, And sunshine, or storm, he must meet as he can, Must expect a surprise, and be true to his ward. But the season of trial will soon have an end, The moment will come when he meets his relief, If true to his post, then his Captain's his friend, And joy shall efface all remembrance of grief. Rides in the whirl-wind, and directs the storm. THE CAMPAIGN. BY ADDISON. + Psalm xxx. v. 5. |