Ballads | Page 9

she enjoyed the evening air,?Her favourite Swan there proudly row'd.
The mother in her active arms,?To make her boy benignly mild;?And nobly proof 'gainst all alarms,?There oft would exercise her child.
A boat-house by the terrace side,?Shelter'd a small and simple boat:?And sometimes half way o'er the tide?Chain'd to its home, it us'd to float.
Here she, her infant, and her maid,?Sport with the Swan, and give it bread;?While her gay boy, of nought afraid,?With lively transport sees it fed.
'Tis June--a sultry tempest wild?Impends, Cecilia would retire,?But checks herself to teach her child,?The vivid light'ning to admire.
Her noble mind delights to rear?In early fortitude, her boy;?That he the voice of God may hear,?With admiration's awful joy!
While to regain the vessel's shed,?Her maid an active pilot stands;?She to the music o'er her head,?Dances the child with dauntless hands.
But whirlwinds rise: the vessel reel'd,?Heaven! the sweet parent is o'erthrown:?Her falling head she fails to shield,?Attentive to her child alone.
Tis the tornado's ruthless blast;?The mother stunn'd, the babe it bears?Far from her senseless frame! aghast?The maid, in speechless horror glares!
Yet swiftly to its proper shore,?The whirlwind now the vessel drives,?Where by the elemental roar?Alarm'd, Cecilia's lord arrives.
Into the boat behold him bound,?He lifts his lifeless wife upright:?She wakens to the thunder's sound;?Her opening eyes regain the light.
"Where is my child?" she faintly cries;?"Where is the child?" her lord rejoin'd:?Poor heart-struck Susan nought replies,?The child had vanished from her mind.
"My child! my child!" with terror's start?She shrieks, in accents wild and shrill;?And at her agony of heart,?The very tempest's self grew still!
"Say if you saw him sink!" she cried,?Wildly to Susan pale and wan:?When quick her roving eye descried,?The tall neck of her favourite Swan.
"My God! my God! 'tis thee I thank!"?Exclaim'd the now exulting fair;?"I see him wafted to the bank,?His cradle form'd by heavenly care!"
She spoke, and all who heard her cry,?Now saw the babe divinely nurst;?The extatic sight from every eye,?Made tears of grateful transport burst.
Between her silvery arching wings,?The guardian bird had lodg'd the child;?And forward as her broad foot springs,?At every stroke the infant smil'd.
And with a heaven-implanted pride,?Superbly rowing now to land;?The brave bird has her charge denied?To all, but to the mother's hand.
Cecilia feeling now no pains,?Leans o'er the boat's advancing end;?And aided by her lord reclaims,?The present of her feather'd friend.
Now with delight the rescued boy,?To her maternal bosom springs:?The conscious Swan partakes their joy,?And claps her proud triumphant wings.
Cecilia beads to weep and pray,?She weeps with joy, no longer wan;?And still on this returning day,?Blesses the heaven-directed Swan!
THE HERMIT'S DOG.
BALLAD THE ELEVENTH.
Of dogs who sav'd a living friend,?Most nobly, ye have read:?Now to a nobler still attend,?A guardian of the dead.
As o'er wild Alpine scenes I stray'd,?Not far from that retreat,?Where Bruno, with celestial aid,?First plann'd his sacred seat.
An anchorite of noble mien,?Attracted my regard;?Majestic as that savage scene,?Or as a Cambrian bard.
He to no silent dome belongs,?The rock is his domain;?It echoes to his nightly songs?Devotion's lonely strain.
His mansion is a tranquil grot,?Form'd in the living stone:?My view of the sequester'd spot,?I owe to chance alone.
For happening near his cell to rove,?Enamour'd of the wild;?I heard within a piny grove?What seem'd a plaintive child.
The distant cry so struck my ear,?I hasten'd to the ground,?But saw surpris'd, as I drew near,?The author of the sound.
No human form, yet one I thought,?With human feelings fill'd,?And from his tongue, by nature taught,?Strange notes of sorrow thrill'd.
Unseen myself, I clearly saw?A dog that couchant moan'd;?He struck the hard earth with his paw,?Then look'd at Heaven, and groan'd!
With silent caution I drew near,?To mark this friend of man,?Expressing grief in sobs so clear,?It through my bosom ran!
The noble beast was black as jet,?And as a lion large;?He look'd as on a tombstone set,?To hold the dead in charge.
Grand was his visage, round his neck?Broad silver rings he wore;?These rings, that his dark body deck,?The cross of Malta bore.
I gaz'd, but soon my steps, tho' soft,?Announced a stranger near;?The brave beast bounded up aloft,?Nor was I free from fear.
But soon his master's voice represt?And call'd him to his side:?And soon I was the hermit's guest,?He was my guard and guide.
My own intrusion to excuse,?The wond'rous dog I prais'd,?Whose milder mien my eye reviews,?Delighted and amaz'd!
"If I disturb thy calm retreat,?Divinely calm indeed,?The noble servant at thy feet,?May for my pardon plead."
"That noble servant in my sight?Whom strength and grace adorn,?Announces, if I read aright,?A master nobly born."
The sire replied, with graceful bend,?"No not my servant, he!?A noble independent friend,?He deigns to live with me!"
"But, stranger, if you kindly rest,?His story you shall hear,?And all that makes my sable guest,?Most singularly dear."
"Here it has been my chosen lot,?Some awful years to spend!?Few months have pass'd, since near this spot?I gain'd this signal friend."
"This friend, with whom to live and die,?Is now my dearest aim;?He