The Borough | Page 3

sinking; curling to the strand,
Faint, lazy waves
o'ercreep the rigid sand,
Or tap the tarry boat with gentle blow,
And
back return in silence, smooth and slow.
Ships in the calm seem
anchor'd; for they glide
On the still sea, urged solely by the tide:
Art
thou not present, this calm scene before,
Where all beside is pebbly
length of shore,
And far as eye can reach, it can discern no more?
Yet sometimes comes a ruffing cloud to make
The quiet surface of
the ocean shake;
As an awaken'd giant with a frown
Might show his
wrath, and then to sleep sink down.
View now the Winter-storm! above, one cloud,
Black and unbroken,
all the skies o'ershroud:
Th' unwieldy porpoise through the day before

Had roll'd in view of boding men on shore;
And sometimes hid and
sometimes show'd his form,
Dark as the cloud, and furious as the
storm.
All where the eye delights, yet dreads to roam,
The breaking billows
cast the flying foam
Upon the billows rising--all the deep
Is restless
change; the waves so swell'd and steep,
Breaking and sinking, and the
sunken swells,
Nor one, one moment, in its station dwells:
But
nearer land you may the billows trace,
As if contending in their
watery chase;

May watch the mightiest till the shoal they reach,


Then break and hurry to their utmost stretch;
Curl'd as they come,
they strike with furious force,
And then re-flowing, take their grating
course,
Raking the rounded flints, which ages past
Roll'd by their
rage, and shall to ages last.
Far off the Petrel in the troubled way
Swims with her brood, or
flutters in the spray;
She rises often, often drops again,
And sports
at ease on the tempestuous main.
High o'er the restless deep, above the reach
Of gunner's hope, vast
flights of Wild-ducks stretch;
Far as the eye can glance on either side,

In a broad space and level line they glide;
All in their wedge-like
figures from the north,
Day after day, flight after flight, go forth.
In-shore their passage tribes of Sea-gulls urge,
And drop for prey
within the sweeping surge;
Oft in the rough opposing blast they fly

Far back, then turn, and all their force apply,
While to the storm they
give their weak complaining cry;
Or clap the sleek white pinion to the
breast,
And in the restless ocean dip for rest.
Darkness begins to reign; the louder wind
Appals the weak and awes
the firmer mind;
But frights not him whom evening and the spray
In
part conceal--yon Prowler on his way:
Lo! he has something seen; he
runs apace,
As if he fear'd companion in the chase;
He sees his
prize, and now he turns again,
Slowly and sorrowing--"Was your
search in vain?"
Gruffly he answers, "'Tis a sorry sight!
A seaman's
body: there'll be more to-night!"
Hark! to those sounds! they're from distress at sea;
How quick they
come! What terrors may there be!
Yes, 'tis a driven vessel: I discern

Lights, signs of terror, gleaming from the stern;
Others behold
them too, and from the town
In various parties seamen hurry down;

Their wives pursue, and damsels urged by dread,
Lest men so dear be
into danger led;
Their head the gown has hooded, and their call
In

this sad night is piercing like the squall;
They feel their kinds of
power, and when they meet,
Chide, fondle, weep, dare, threaten, or
entreat.
See one poor girl, all terror and alarm,
Has fondly seized upon her
lover's arm;
"Thou shalt not venture;" and he answers "No!
I will
not:"--still she cries, "Thou shalt not go."
No need of this; not here the stoutest boat
Can through such breakers,
o'er such billows float,
Yet may they view these lights upon the beach,

Which yield them hope whom help can never reach.
From parted clouds the moon her radiance throws
On the wild waves,
and all the danger shows;
But shows them beaming in her shining
vest,
Terrific splendour! gloom in glory dress'd!
This for a moment,
and then clouds again
Hide every beam, and fear and darkness reign.
But hear we not those sounds? Do lights appear?
I see them not! the
storm alone I hear:
And lo! the sailors homeward take their way;

Man must endure--let us submit and pray.
Such are our Winter-views: but night comes on -
Now business sleeps,
and daily cares are gone;
Now parties form, and some their friends
assist
To waste the idle hours at sober whist;
The tavern's pleasure
or the concert's charm
Unnumber'd moments of their sting disarm:

Play-bills and open doors a crowd invite,
To pass off one dread
portion of the night;
And show and song and luxury combined,
Lift
off from man this burthen of mankind.
Others advent'rous walk abroad and meet
Returning parties pacing
through the street,
When various voices, in the dying day,
Hum in
our walks, and greet us in our way;
When tavern-lights flit on from
room to room,
And guide the tippling sailor staggering home:
There
as we pass, the jingling bells betray
How business rises with the
closing day:
Now walking silent, by the river's side,
The ear

perceives the rippling of the tide;
Or measured cadence of the lads
who tow
Some entered hoy, to fix her in her row;
Or hollow sound,
which from the parish-bell
To some