Having again got hold of Rockall, we determined to abide by our firm friend till circumstances should render our return to the ship certain. In the mean time, we amused ourselves in forming plans for a future residence on this desolate abode, in the event of the ship being blown away during the night. If the weather should become more stormy, and our position to leeward should be rendered unsafe, in consequence of the divided waves running round and meeting, it was resolved that we should abandon the heaviest of the two boats, and drag the other up to the brow of the rock, so as to form, when turned keel upwards, a sort of hurricane-house. These and various other Robinson Crusoe kinds of resources, helped to occupy our thoughts, half in jest, half in earnest, till, by the increased gloom, we knew that the sun had gone down. It now became indispensable to adopt some definite line of operations, for the angry-looking night was setting in fast. Fortunately, we were saved from further trials of patience or ingenuity by the fog suddenly rising, as it is called, — or dissipating itself in the air, so completely, that, to our great joy, we gained sight of the ship once again. It appeared afterwards that they had not seen our little island from the Endymion nearly so soon as we discovered her; and she was, in consequence, standing almost directly away from us, evidently not knowing whereabouts Rockall lay. This, I think, was the most anxious moment during the whole adventure; nor shall I soon forget the sensations caused by seeing the jib-sheet let fly, accompanied by other indications that the frigate was coming about. I need not spin out the story any longer. It was almost dark when we got on board. Our first question was the reproachful one, "Why did you fire no guns to give us notice of your position?" "Fire guns!" said they; "why, we have done nothing but blaze away every ten minutes for these last five or six hours." Yet, strange to say, we heard not a single discharge! th (vocal) : — this, that, than, the, their, them, then, thence, these, they, thine, thither, thou, though, thus, thy. The Shipwreck. WILSON. HER giant form O'er wrathful surge, through blackening storm, 'Mid the deep darkness, white as snow! Many ports will exult at the gleam of her mast! Hush! hush! thou vain dreamer! this hour is her last. Five hundred souls, in one instant of dread, Are hurried o'er the deck; And fast the miserable ship Becomes a lifeless wreck. Her keel hath struck on a hidden rock, Her planks are torn asunder, And down come her masts with a reeling shock, And a hideous crash, like thunder. Her sails are draggled in the brine, That gladdened late the skies, And her pendant, that kissed the fair moonshine, Her beauteous sides, whose rainbow hues Gleamed softly from below, And flung a warm and sunny flush O'er the wreaths of murmuring snow, To the coral rocks are hurrying down, To sleep amid colors as bright as their own. An hour before her death, And sights of home with sighs disturbed And the swallow's song in the eaves. And his wife by turns she wept and smiled, Returned to her heart at last. He wakes at the vessel's sudden roll, Like a struggling dream at break of day. No image meets my wandering eye, But the new-risen sun and the sunny sky. Though the night-shades are gone, yet a vapor dull While a low and melancholy moan THE isles of Greece! the isles of Greece! Eternal summer gilds them yet; The Scian and the Teian muse, To sounds which echo farther west The mountains look on Marathon And Marathon looks on the sea; I dreamed that Greece might still be free; I could not deem myself a slave. A king sate on the rocky brow Which looks o'er sea-born Salamis; And ships, by thousands, lay below, And men in nations; all were his! He counted them at break of day -. And when the sun set, where were they? And where are they? and where art thou, My country? On thy voiceless shore The heroic lay is tuneless now The heroic bosom beats no more! And must thy lyre, so long divine, Degenerate into hands like mine? 'Tis something, in the dearth of fame, For Greeks a blush for Greece a tear. Must we but weep o'er days more blessed? Sound like a distant torrent's fall, In vain in vain strike other chords; |