I PS 1719 
 
 F35 
 [Copy 2 
 
 
 FITZ CLARENCE 
 
 A POEM. 
 
i 
 
' FITZ CLARENCE 
 
 5^ 
 
 A POEM. 
 
 BY BS^BTFRENCH. 
 
 \^r^ry of Co,, 
 
 J" 
 
 I W-'-y 
 
 °^^Va3h.ni^^- 
 
 WASHINGTON : 
 
 PRINTED BT BLATR AND RIVES- 
 
 1844. 
 

TO THE EEADEE. 
 
 As long ago as 1829 or '30, the writer of the following 
 
 stanzas, being, as the acute reader will perceive, somewhat 
 
 Childe Harold stricken, formed the idea that his country 
 
 possessed some things worthy of being noticed after the 
 
 manner in which the gifted Byron has described many 
 
 places and things of the Old Worid. With this view 
 
 he commenced writing. In the mean time, the ship in 
 
 which a friend had sailed for foreign climes, was burned 
 
 at sea, somewhat under the circumstances attempted to be 
 
 described in this canto. The writer had then seen no 
 
 poetical description of the burning of a ship at sea, and his 
 
 ambition to describe it, led him into a digression from his 
 
 original design. The poem progressed, at that time, to 
 
 nearly its present length, when it was laid aside, and, 
 
 among sundry gems which have been " born to blush 
 
 unseen," lectures, addresses, arguments, notes of speeches, 
 
 &c., &.C., has it lain neglected and almost forgotten, until 
 
 the hand of friendship brought it forth, and the voice of 
 
 friendship, too partial, it is feared, to its author, insisted that 
 
 it should be printed. 
 
Complying, reluctantly, with this request, it is now suf- 
 fered to go to the press, not for publication, but to be print- 
 ed, that a few copies may be distributed to those who have 
 rescued it from among the bullrushes, where its fond parent 
 had hidden it. 
 
 The name of the hero, " Fitz Clarence," is one the au- 
 thor's fancy happened to stumble on. It would have been 
 less royal, and certainly much more American, had he 
 happened to select some such name as Job Dickey, or 
 John Thompson, and he has had half a mind to change his 
 hero's name; but, upon consideration that he (the hero) 
 has arrived almost to manhood's years, the author has con- 
 cluded to let him bear the name which his more youthful 
 fancy selected. 
 
 The author now bids the reader a courteous adieu. 
 
 November, 1844. 
 
DEDICATION. 
 
 TO MY SISTER KATE : 
 
 More than fourteen years ago, my beloved sister, I read 
 to you the first stanzas of this Poem. They met your 
 approving smile, and I was encouraged to write on. It is 
 fit and proper that what you then heard, and perchance 
 have long since forgotten, should now, with all a brother's 
 affection, be inscribed to you, by 
 
 Your affectionate brother, 
 
 THE AUTHOR. 
 
CANTO I. 
 
 I. 
 
 " And if, as holiest men have deemed, there be 
 A world of souls beyond that sable shore," 
 Then hves Childe Harold. Mighty shade, to thee, 
 One who delighteth o'er thy thoughts to pore. 
 Appeals. Shall he in vain thine aid implore 
 To cheer him onward ? His ambition's wings 
 Are spread, not o'er a lofty height to soar ; 
 Content is his, if, as perchance he sings. 
 He strike one thrilling note from off the ill-tuned strings. 
 
 n. 
 
 Back — back o'er recollection's path to hie, 
 To call up, from the mists of former time. 
 Things which have been — the backward oar to ply, 
 To float in fancy's barque through memory's clime, 
 To weave a web of ever-varying rhyme ; 
 This is his task. And shall it not succeed, 
 While he, the hero of this tale, no crime 
 Hath ever scathed ? Dishonorable deed 
 Was never known of him of whom you now shall read. 
 
8 
 III. 
 
 FiTZ Clarence — at the font the sacred priest 
 Pronounced his name, and craved, in earnest prayer, 
 That that Almighty arm which shields the least 
 Of all earth's myriads, in his holy care 
 Would keep the little one. Around him, there. 
 Stood those whose deep responses told that they 
 Felt all the holy influence of that prayer, 
 And beating hearts responded, on that day. 
 To the fond hopes of those who there had knelt to pray. 
 
 IV. 
 
 And eyes did gaze on him — the eyes of love 
 Which a young mother on her firstborn throws ; 
 And she did pray that He, the One above, 
 Would guide her offspring safe from all the woes 
 To which mankind are doomed. Vain prayer — while flows 
 Around our race a sea of falsehood, can 
 Even one escape unscathed, till death shall close 
 His pilgrimage, nor feel this earthly ban ? 
 The blessed God's own Son felt all the woes of man ! 
 
 V. 
 
 Fitz Clarence never knew a mother's care — 
 That holy tie was severed. Ere the child 
 Had blossomed into boyhood she was where 
 " The weary are at rest" — and they had piled 
 The earth above her — and the rank grass, wild, 
 Soon grew upon her grave, while her loved one 
 Was left to others, and on him they smiled. 
 Though bright and cheery rose his morning's sun, 
 None can complete that which a mother's hand begun ! 
 
9 
 
 VI. 
 
 A kind, but stern unbending sire was left 
 To watch his childhood : and he loved the boy, 
 The firstborn of his house — of her bereft, 
 The partner of his youth — his hope, his joy, 
 JNow centred in his son ; but man's employ 
 Soon blunts the keenest shaft — the stormy world 
 Bears him along — and oh ! 'tis life's alloy 
 To mingle with earth's million, onward whirled. 
 To shipwreck in the tomb, ere yet one sail is furled. 
 
 VII. 
 
 Man is the veriest slave to his own kind ; 
 Oft in his feverish longings after fame. 
 He casts his sails all loose, and courts the wind 
 Of popular applause, and hopes his name 
 Will a high niche in honor's temple claim. 
 Fond fool — he's but the football of his peers. 
 And acts their bidding, till the feeble flame 
 Burns in the socket — worn out — not by years — 
 He learns the crumbling base on which his fame he rears ! 
 
 vm. 
 
 And there are those who leave all else to win 
 Abundant riches — if the bitterest bowl 
 Of life be tasted, soon 'tis cast within 
 The ocean of forgetfulness. The soul 
 Does love the world for the world's self; the goal 
 Of all their wishes is to heap up gold. 
 Th' impress of boyhood man can scarce control ; 
 But if, as oft by reverend priests we 're told. 
 All things ave fore-ordained, then we our arms may fold — 
 2 
 
10 
 
 IX. 
 
 And float supinely down the stream of time ! 
 It can't be so — a mere automaton 
 Man is not. Of God's works the most sublime, 
 He stands supreme this orbed world upon. 
 Born on the Ebro or wild Oregon, 
 His nature is the same — lord of the earth ; 
 The simple Indian and the haughty Don, 
 Owe unto Heaven alike, each, at their birth, 
 Praise, if 'tis due, or blame for placing them on earth. 
 
 X. 
 
 The Almighty Power (who has created all 
 Which is contained in space, so infinite, 
 That we, the sovereigns, on this earthly ball. 
 E'en in our fancy's most extended flight, 
 To where our sun, one feeble ray of light 
 Lends to some far off system — and still on 
 To where that system's, more intensely bright, 
 Sinks in the radiance of some farther sun — 
 We seek to grasp it— still — on — on our thoughts may run) 
 
 XL 
 
 Has fixed, by his immutable decree. 
 Laws never erring — ^by which systems roll 
 And men are governed, which will ever he, 
 Knowing no change — coeval with the soul 
 Of Him who formed them. Time on time shall roll, 
 Like wave on wave, toward dark futurity, 
 Leaving the mind of man, without control. 
 To drink in knowledge. And eternity. 
 As he has followed vice or virtue here, shall be ! 
 
11 
 
 XII. 
 
 But to my theme. The hero of this tale 
 Was a wild, wayward youth — and he did love, 
 While yet a boy, to trim the tiny sail, 
 To draw the arrow to its head — to rove 
 The tangled dell, the dingle, or the grove ; 
 And o'er the silvery surface of the lake, 
 With stealthy oar, his noiseless skiff to move, 
 And from its most unfathomed depths to take 
 Its scaly tenants. Nor did he these sports forsake 
 
 XIII. 
 
 When riper years announced his manhood's prime. 
 Where the dark forest waved, in grandeur lone, 
 In its most covert recess, oftentime 
 Did Clarence wander — and the sighing moan 
 Of the dark hemlock was, to him, a tone 
 Rich, grand, and solemn. Nature keeps her shrine 
 Not in the crowded city, but alone. 
 In the deep forest, where the lofty pine 
 And thick spread oak, to form her Temple's roof, combine. 
 
 XIV. 
 
 There man should go to worship, for 'tis there 
 That he may faintly image to his mind 
 The majesty of God, from things that are 
 By him created ; and he there shall find 
 His thoughts expand, and, as the viewless wind. 
 Go forth into the Heavens, and contemplate 
 The greatness of the Father of mankind. 
 Who is all good. Then man tnust consecrate 
 His every thought to Heaven, mu\feel that God is great. 
 
12 
 
 XV. 
 
 Fitz Clarence had no misanthropic mind : 
 He loved the " breathing world," and of his race 
 Were those who were within his soul enshrined, 
 E'en as the casket doth the gem embrace ; 
 And still, though years are gone, doth memory trace 
 On her too faithful mirror many a form, 
 And the bright beaming of some much loved face, 
 Which, in the days of youth, when blood is warm. 
 Were dearly cherished. Since, they've shipwrecked in life's 
 storm. 
 
 XVI. 
 
 To choose the loveliest bud and call it ours, 
 To watch its opening and to hope 'twill prove 
 Fairer, by far, than its surrounding flowers. 
 Creates, e'en for a little rose, a love 
 Within the generous bosom, far above 
 The love of earthly dross which men call gold. 
 If, ere it blossom, some rude hand remove 
 It from the stem — its petals half unrolled — 
 We grieve but for a rose. Then can that grief be told 
 
 XVII. 
 
 Which the heart feels, when, in his youth's bright morn, 
 Some dearly loved one passes to the grave ; 
 When all the ties of earth are rudely torn. 
 And, ere the flood of life, we mark its wave 
 Ebb back into that sea whose waters lave 
 No shore — but, boundless as Eternity, 
 Dash on in dread and darkness ? No. We have 
 Feelings, which to express in words would be 
 Of the reality of grief but a mere mockery ! 
 
13 
 
 XV 111. 
 
 And Clarence ye?^ all that mankind can feel, 
 When the dark portal of the tomb did close 
 O'er one whom he had loved in wo and weal ; 
 One who did often at his side repose ; 
 One whom to know was but to love. Of foes, 
 Young, generous, high-soul'd Arthur ne'er had one. 
 And Fame's bright Temple, which before him rose. 
 He hoped to enter. Ere his rising sun 
 Had reached its zenith, he his earthly coui'se had run. 
 
 XIX. 
 
 Peace to his ashes. What he might have been, 
 Had life, had health been spared him to pass on 
 Through the rough world, to us cannot be seen ; 
 Within a better sphere his goal he won. 
 And Clarence oft doth look in grief upon 
 The marble tablet, which now marks the spot 
 Where they did place the loved, the cherished one ; 
 And if a tear doth fall, oh call it not 
 Weakness to wash with tears, that grief Time cannot blot. 
 
 XX. 
 
 Fitz Clarence' youthful sun had sought its west, 
 His manhood's moi'ning sky was streaked with light. 
 When that unceasing power within the breast. 
 Which still assures us there is something bright 
 And fair, and beautiful, which knows no blight 
 From this world's envy, in some far off land, 
 Urged him to seek a clime where new delight 
 Should still be strewn by Pleasure's lavish hand — 
 Some Otaheitan isle, by spicy breezes fanned. 
 
14 
 
 XXI. 
 
 Tears had been shed and warm adieus been spoken ; 
 Home, kindred, friends, "in distance left afar;" 
 Though hands were severed — ties remained unbroken, 
 Wliich nought save death could break, nor time could mar ; 
 And Clarence, ere the rising of that star 
 Which ushers in the evening, moved along, 
 Where ever-vaiying sounds, and the deep jar 
 Of trains in crowded streets, announced the throng 
 Which to the heaving tide of city life belong. 
 
 XXII. 
 
 'Twas in thy bosom, fair Peninsula, 
 Home of bright science, cradle of the brave. 
 That Britain's lordlings earliest sought to mar 
 A nation's freedom, and to find a grave 
 For all the Pilgrim Fathers sought to save 
 Spotless and pure — the banner of the free — 
 For which they ploughed the ocean — crossed the wave. 
 And reared a sacred shrine to Liberty ; 
 The first blood on that shrine was furnished forth by thee. 
 
 XXIII. 
 
 And Clarence was alone amid the crowd : 
 Though thousands were about him, none were there 
 Whom he had ever known ; and he did shroud 
 Himself within himself, and wandered where 
 His footsteps chose to bear him ; of that care 
 Which marks the ever-hurrying of the cit. 
 He was bereft — his speculations were 
 Of limes long past, when the war pyre was lit 
 Whose rtame spread o'er this land, and Freedom hallowed it. 
 
15 
 
 XXIV. 
 
 And he did stand upon that sacred spot 
 Where Britain's soldiers tarnished all their fame; 
 Where Boston's murdered sons fell 'neath the shot 
 Of their protectors ! — such th' insulting name 
 Assumed by them when o'er the deep they came. 
 Roused by the shock our slumbering Eagle rose, 
 And, screaming, shook his plumage o'er the flame 
 Which then burst forth — "Destruction to our foes" — 
 The cry swept through the land, as a vast torrent flows. 
 
 XXV. 
 
 And as he wandered over Bunker's height. 
 And stood where Warren fell in Virtue's cause. 
 Where our brave squadrons waged th' unequal fight. 
 Urged not by Fame's high trump, or hoped applause, 
 But by those feelings love of country draws 
 From valor's bosom, he did almost deem 
 The ground was holy — and he there did pause 
 And thank that Power who smiled upon a scheme 
 The noblest ever planned — a Nation to redeem. 
 
 XXVI. 
 
 Oh ! there were iron nerves and hearts of steel 
 Among our sires in those dark days of gloom : 
 " Vict'ry or death, our cause the common weal, 
 A freeman's life — or slumber in the tomb!" 
 This was their war-cry, and the nodding plume 
 Above the warrior's brow danced not more light 
 Than did his heart, when to the battle's boom 
 He bore him — and, in thickest of the fight. 
 Each blow he struck was given for freedom and his right. 
 
16 
 
 XXVII. 
 
 That generation now hath passed away, 
 The spirits of our sires have sought their rest, 
 Save a few noble hearts, which, as a ray 
 Of the bright sun just glowing in its west, 
 Still glad the earth. Thus is our country blest. 
 Of those still with us, soon the last shall be 
 Of those tvho have been. Soon shall every breast 
 Which braved the battle that we might be free — 
 Be tenants of thy land, thou dark Eternity. 
 
 XXVIII. 
 
 As Clarence mused upon those men of old. 
 And gazed about on the inheritance 
 They left their children — not in hoarded gold, 
 But a fair teeming soil ; and as his glance 
 Fell on the domes and spires — the glittering lance. 
 The sword, the musket, and the thick array 
 Of men all armed for battle, as a trance 
 Of former years came o'er him ; e'en the neigh 
 Of rushing steeds was there — as on that well-fought day. 
 
 XXIX. 
 
 And burning thoughts were coursing through his brain, 
 As he stood wrapt in Fancy's giddy dream, 
 And history's light spread round him all the train 
 Of past events, connected with that beam 
 Of Liberty, which, there first, as a gleam 
 Of lightning bursting through the coming storm, 
 Burst forth volcano like. And he did deem, 
 As evening's shadowy darkness clasp'd his form, 
 That Poetry was there, with inspiration warm. 
 
17 
 
 XXX. 
 
 And mid his waking dream the voice of song, 
 First, as th' enchanted notes of Memnon's lyre, 
 Came stealing o'er him ; then, in cadence strong, 
 The trumpet call to battle ; while a choir 
 Of angel voices mingled with the dire 
 And hostile shout of men prepared for war, 
 And thrilling words, the warrior's soul to fire, 
 Fell from sweet lips — " 'Tis preferable far 
 To die — than live to grace a king's triumphal car !" 
 
 1. 
 
 Soldiers, hasten to the fight, 
 
 On, on, in Heaven's name, on! 
 
 Blazing over Bunker's height, 
 
 Mark, mark the signal gun. 
 There our loved sires and brethren are 
 Leaguered amid the ranks of war. 
 2. 
 
 Up ! 'tis morning, mark the smoke 
 
 Wreathing across the deep ; 
 
 From yon citadel of oak, 
 
 See, through the waters leap 
 The booming shot — each echoing gun 
 Knells some warrior's labor done. 
 
 3. 
 
 'Tis the summons to the strife ; 
 
 Spur, spur your coursers on ; 
 
 Forward ! for liberty — is life 
 
 Too dear for freedom won ? 
 Then, as the whirlwind sweeps the wave 
 Rush on to vict'ry, or the grave. 
 
 3 
 
18 
 
 4. 
 
 Now in contest foes are met, 
 Arms are clanging, missiles flying. 
 Many a steed in blood is wet, 
 Many a hero there lies dying. 
 
 5. 
 
 Bursting out, the spiry flame 
 Rises from the town beneath them, 
 
 XXXI. 
 
 The trance was o'er, the dream of war had fled ; 
 And, save the far-off hum of life, no sound 
 Was on the air. The mellow moonlight, shed 
 On roof and steeple, and the silvered ground 
 Whereon he stood, and where death erst had found 
 A harvest of brave hearts, bade Clarence leave 
 That consecrated, ever sacred mound ; 
 And as he passed away, if he did grieve, 
 'Twas that he left that land, the ocean's wave to cleave. 
 
 XXXII. 
 
 Thou vast — vast ocean ! On thy billowy breast, 
 Dashing, in foam, thy waters from her prow, 
 Moved a proud vessel, while the snowy crest 
 Of each dark wave, curled backward by the blow 
 Of the stiff land breeze, seemed to rise as though 
 A host of white-plumed warriors trod the main. 
 As Clarence gazed from that tall barque, the glow 
 Of admiration filled his soul — a train 
 Of high and holy thoughts lit up his raptured brain. 
 
19 
 
 XXXIII. 
 
 If there is aught can raise the soul on high 
 To the Omnipotent First Cause of all, 
 'Tis thee, thou emblem of Eternity. 
 Thou, co-existent with this earthly ball, 
 Hast still roll'd on. Empires may rise and fall, 
 But thou, (thou vast illimitable sea. 
 Death and decay, and change shall come o'er all 
 Save thee,) on — on througii Time's futurity; 
 As thou hast ever been, unchanged, thou still shalt be. 
 
 XXXIV. 
 
 The last faint outUne of the land was gone: 
 Nought, save the rolling sea and azure sky, 
 Was there for human eye to rest upon. 
 Right on her course the ship sailed merrily. 
 As Clarence backward turned his thoughts, his eye 
 Did fill with tears — Had he not cause to weep ? 
 He left his home, his native land, to ply 
 The ever varying, never changing deep, 
 To seek, where Fortune's gifts are sown, his chance to reap. 
 
 XXXV. 
 
 And there was one fair being left behind, 
 Who was the loadstone of his very soul ; 
 No lovelier form e'er kinder heart enshrined — 
 And her affections were the utmost goal 
 Of all his wishes. Oceans vast might roll 
 Between them, still that eye of heavenly blue 
 Beamed o'er him where he moved, and did control 
 His every action — while his fancy drew, 
 'Mid every brilliant scene, that form to memory true. 
 
20 
 
 XXXVI. 
 
 Pure as an angel from the Court of Heaven 
 Was the beloved one whom he worshipped so ; 
 But all in vain his vows to her were given ; 
 He, the disposer of events below, 
 Had marked the channels where their fates should flow 
 Wide from each other — and her destiny 
 Perchance was happier — but a deeper glow 
 Of warm affection ne'er was felt, than he 
 Did cherish for the fail-, the beautiful Marie. 
 
 xxxvn. 
 
 Weeks had passed by — propitious breezes blew, 
 And, like a sea-bird, o'er the swelling sea, 
 Toward her destined port the stout ship flew ; 
 Each heart on board beat high with joy and glee; 
 And mirth and song were there, and revelry. 
 The glass had sparkle^ and the toast been given — 
 Darkness had spread abroad her panoply. 
 Save that, at times, the shroud of night was riven 
 By the electric flash that shot across the heaven — 
 
 xxxvni. 
 
 Which, to the seaman's practised eye, revealed 
 The storm-cloud gathering in the distant gloom ; 
 Deep and more deep the echoing thunder pealed. 
 Else, all was silent as the noiseless tomb. 
 Again the vivid lightning doth relume 
 The sleeping ocean — in its dazzling glare 
 The dark clouds a still darker hue assume. 
 As if the Demon of the storm were there. 
 His forehead crowned with fire — high in the troubled air. 
 
21 
 
 XXXIX. 
 
 " Let every sail be furled ! " — the word doth pass — 
 Quick to the yards the nimble sailors spring, 
 And not Fate's shadow o'er the magic glass 
 A change more rapid to the eye doth bring — 
 One moment, and the swan's extended wing 
 Could not gleam whiter on the night's black veil 
 Than did that vessel ; in the next, no thing, 
 Save one lone wing, of all that cloud of sail, 
 Was spread above her deck to meet the coming gale. 
 
 XL. 
 
 And now it comes in all its whirlwind force — 
 The aspect of the deep is foamy white — 
 The vessel, reeling, alters now her course 
 And dashes onward — while unearthly light 
 Glares all around ; and, stunning with its might, 
 The crashing thunder bellows through the heaven ; 
 And now, as if all terrors to unite, 
 A flash — a peal — like as a bolt were driven 
 Right through that vessel's hull : 'Tis so — her mainmast's 
 riven ! 
 
 XLL 
 
 Ere yet the wildered ones who trod that deck, 
 Robed in the garb of high authority, 
 Had waked their energies to note the wreck 
 The angry elements had made — the cry, 
 " The ship's on fire !" was shouted to the sky. 
 In wild amazement, rushing from below. 
 As if away from danger they could fly. 
 Came those who, warm with expectation's glow. 
 Had sought their rest with joy, but to awake to wo. 
 
22 
 
 XLII. 
 
 All is confusion — nor the driving storni; 
 The blinding flash, or startling thunder peal. 
 Has aught of terror — in more horrid form 
 Destruction doth its dreadful power reveal. 
 The stoutest heart cannot its fear conceal, 
 As from the hatchway bursts the living fire, 
 Casting its glare around ; each one doth feel. 
 As the poor victim placed upon the pyre, 
 That Death now claims his own — and comes in form most 
 dire. 
 
 XLIII. 
 
 As Clarence gazed upon the dreadful scene, 
 And marked the horrors that around him were, 
 One single wish that he had never been 
 Was mingled with one thrill of deep despair ; 
 And, all unmanned, amid the lurid glare 
 He for a moment stood — that moment burned 
 Within his breast the thought of home, and there 
 All that his heart did cherish — and he spurned 
 The coward, Fear, away — and then to Hope he turned. 
 
 XLIV. 
 
 And now his youthful energies are bent, 
 With all their utmost force to quench the flame ; 
 Now, for a season, 'neath the deck 'tis pent — 
 But vain the eflx)rt — for again it came 
 Bursting in brightness forth — and now were tame 
 To that which rose, the wild hyena's cry ! 
 Saints were implored, and every sacred name 
 Was, by despairing voices, shouted high. 
 And prayers and curses there, mingled discordantly. 
 
23 
 
 XLV. 
 
 "■ Mark, mark that flash beam brightly o'er the wave ! 
 " 'Tis not heaven's lightning gleaming from afar ! 
 " Hark ! 'tis the signal gun ! Seamen, be brave, 
 " Hope shines upon us with her brightest star; 
 " Let not despair your well-known courage mar — 
 " The storm abates, and now the boat can live." 
 Thus spoke the Captain, and each sturdy tar 
 Did, " with a will,'' his ready service give— 
 The lifeboat met the wave, and did its freight receive ! 
 
 XLVI. 
 
 Man plans the future — but his schemes, how vain 1 
 Child of a day, one single breath his own ! 
 How often, ere one hour can wax and wane, 
 Are all his dreamy castles overthrown ! 
 At midnight heaven's bright arch o'er Clarence shone , 
 He slept in peace, nor dreaming of the fate 
 Of that proud vessel — ere the time had flown 
 That marks one hour upon the dial's plate, 
 A change came o'er his path, and oh ! that change how great ! 
 
 XLvn. 
 
 Morning did dawn upon that ship, a wreck 
 Blazing upon the waters — her fair form. 
 Her beauteous tracery, her late peopled deck 
 Were now an offering to the god of storm ; 
 And, laboring o'er her blazing hull, a swarm 
 Of ghostly sailors did there seem to be, 
 Fitting her for her last sad voyage — and warm 
 Their reddened cheeks did seem to glow, as she 
 Bore them to her last port, down in the deep, deep sea ! 
 
24 
 
 XLVIII. 
 
 Yes — morning dawned upon that ship, a wreck 
 Blazing upon the waters. Where are they 
 Who, yester evening, joyful, on her deck 
 Laughed the glad hours in merriment away, 
 Nor dreamed of danger ere the coming day ? 
 The lifeboat bears them, tossing o'er the deep, 
 Sad, wet and weary — dangers mark their way, 
 As the yet troubled waves around them leap. 
 Yet toward the friendly barque their steady course they keep. 
 
 XLIX. 
 
 And ere the sun had reached the western sky. 
 Once more in safety, and mid friends, they stood ; 
 Their fervent thanks were raised to the Most High, 
 Who thus had saved them from the fire and flood ; 
 And life seemed fresher — swifter coursed the blood 
 Through their warm breasts, as from the stranger crew 
 A sailor's friendship, and a sailor's food 
 Were freely lavished — sure to Nature true 
 Beats the warm heart of him whose home is ocean blue. 
 
 L. 
 
 But onward, to a far and foreign shore 
 The stranger barque sped o'er the crested wave ; 
 And hours, and days, and weeks passed sadly o'er 
 Our hero's head — his hopes were in their grave ; 
 He felt as if to Fate he was the slave ; 
 For, from the burning and the storm-toss'd wreck 
 His life alone was all that he did save ; 
 And, as he stood upon the stranger deck, 
 On his dark future gleamed no single sunlight speck. 
 
25 
 
 LI. 
 
 The ocean passed, the ship held on her way 
 Across those waves where fell the great and brave ; 
 Where England's navy won a glorious day ; 
 Where England's Hero found a glorious grave ; 
 Where the broad sea doth Cape Trafalgar lave ; 
 And soon Gibraltar's castled rock appears — 
 Frowning, like some tall giant, o'er the wave — 
 The sentry of a thousand-thousand years, 
 Guarding the far-famed pass o'er which his head he rears, 
 
 LII. 
 
 And here Fitz Clarence sought again the shore, 
 And found upon that shore full many a friend ; 
 And every thing seemed beautiful once more. 
 For the bright bow of hope did o'er him bend. 
 And to his soul that happy influence lend 
 Which, when its gorgeous arch o'er earth is thrown, 
 Speaks peace to man, and bids him aye depend 
 On Him whose word to Noe erst made known. 
 The world should ne'er again with flood be overflown. 
 
 UII. 
 
 Short time he staid amid the martial band 
 Whose watch and ward is at the eagle's flight ; 
 And when, to roam Espana's classic land. 
 He bade farewell to Andalusia's* height, 
 His bounding heart beat in his bosom light. 
 For blessings cheered him on his lonely way — 
 Blessings from those who changed misfortune's night 
 To the bright glow of hospitable day. 
 Which, o'er the wanderer's path, shed many a joyous ray. 
 * The ancient and classic name of Gibraltar. 
 
26 
 
 LIV. 
 
 He ivas a wanderer — and with scarce an end^ 
 O'er many a clime his weary footsteps trode ; 
 Now did Itaha's skies above him bend, 
 Italia's glorious sunsets round him glowed ; 
 Then Russia's frozen land was his abode. 
 At length he came to Albion's sea-girt shore, 
 Whence soon again upon the deep he rode, 
 And, " Homeward bound," swell'd far the waters o'er, 
 Till the sweet notes were drowned amid the Atlantic's roar. 
 
 LV. 
 
 Back tow'rd his native land was Clarence borne 
 On the swift pinions of a favoring Avind ; 
 And though o'er blighted prospects he did mourn, 
 Hope cast her brightness o'er his buoyant mind, 
 And home, and all its joys, again to find 
 Was now the darling goal of every thought. 
 Roam where we will, home will its influence wind 
 Around the heart, and come will feelings, fraught 
 With all the happy joys the hours of childhood brought, 
 
 LVI. 
 
 " Land, ho ! " — at morning's dawn the joyful cry 
 Rang through the ship, and roused each sleeper there ; 
 All sought the deck — and every eager eye 
 Was westward turned, to pierce the distance, where 
 Appeared, between the ocean and the air, 
 A dim, faint outline — like a dream of land ; 
 To unskilled eyes no semblance did it bear 
 To the firm soil : but as the morning, bland, 
 Poured forth its orient beams, e'en landsmen hailed the strand. 
 
27 
 
 LVII. 
 
 The sea-breeze freshened with the rising day; 
 The gallant vessel on her course did keep, 
 Cleaving the ocean — from her prow away 
 In foaming whiteness did the waters leap, 
 While sternward whirled her pathway o'er the deep. 
 Ere long thy capes, Virginia, met the eye — 
 Soon they were passed — and, ere the hour of sleep, 
 While the sun's rays still tinged the western sky. 
 Within thy bay, broad Chesapeake, her keel did lie. 
 
 LVIII. 
 
 Who that has sailed the fathomless abyss — 
 Who that has roamed the waste of waters o'er — 
 Who that has left a home of earthly bliss 
 To seek new joys, new beauties to adore, 
 When he, returning, views his native shore. 
 But feels his heart within his bosom burn ? 
 When on the strand he hears the breakers roar, 
 Oh ! how he longs to know — but dreads to learn — 
 If all the dear ones left will welcome his return ! 
 
 LIX. 
 
 'Twas the high noon of a most glorious night ; 
 Clarence had wooed the drowsy god in vain ; 
 He sought the deck — how beautiful, how bright 
 Seemed all about him ; and his levered brain. 
 Where thought,unwished,had roamed till thought was pain, 
 Was soothed to peace by midnight's cooling air ; 
 He gazed upon the heavens — the starry train — 
 The dark blue water — the bright pathway, where 
 The silver moonbeams chased old darkness from his lair. 
 
28 
 
 LX. 
 
 For from the azure heaven the pale chaste moon 
 Cast her white beams upon the sleeping bay. 
 The stars, (like courtiers in the gay saloon 
 Where the prince moves in all his proud array,) 
 Shorn of their radiance, seemed to melt away, 
 Leaving night's empire to its lawful queen. 
 No light-winged zephyr left his home to play 
 In the bright moonlight — not a cloud was seen, 
 But all was hushed and still — as life had never been. 
 
 LXT. 
 
 As Clarence leaned o'er the ship's taffrail, he 
 Held long communion with his inmost mind : 
 His early life — his hours of joy and glee — 
 The parting with dear friends, long tried and kind- 
 That night of horrors, when, in wrath combined, 
 The elements seemed from their bounds to fly, 
 Bearing destruction on the winged wind — 
 The burning ship — the tempest blackened sky — 
 All, as a vision, passed before his mental eye. 
 
 Lxn. 
 
 Oh ! sympathy, how doth thine influence wind 
 Its viewless cords around us — and control 
 The very workings of the human mind ! 
 Whose but the idiot's and the miser's soul 
 Feels not thy power beneath the torrent's roll, 
 Or where the breakers lash the storm-beat shore. 
 Or when the lightnings flash from pole to pole. 
 Followed by the dread thunder's earthquake roar ? 
 'Tis Nature's hymn to God ! — we feel it, and adore ! 
 
29 
 
 LXIII. 
 
 In the deep quiet of the midnight hour, 
 Beneath a cloudless and a moonlit heaven, 
 Who hath not felt as if some soothing power 
 Had a like quiet to the feelings given ? 
 And Clarence, who to banish care had striven, 
 Now felt this influence o'er his feelings steal 
 Like the enchanter's spell — and soon were driven 
 Out from his mind all thoughts of wo or weal. 
 Save visions of the night, which only dreams reveal. 
 
 LXIV. 
 
 When the bright morning streaked the east with red, 
 " All hands unmoor !" passed hoarsely through the ship ; 
 Manned was the capstan, and the steady tread, 
 Whh the loud " Yo, heave, ho," from many a hp 
 Soon brought the word " the anchor is atripj' 
 The loosened sails in fluttering festoons hung, 
 The stripes and stars at the topgallant's tip 
 Their beauties to the early zephyrs flung — 
 " Heave in !" " Sheet home !" " Ay ! ay !" now through the 
 vessel rung. 
 
 LXV. 
 
 A pyramid of canvass she doth move. 
 The grandest work of man's inventive mind ; 
 Towering like life the clear blue wave above. 
 Her rounded sails filled by the soft south wind. 
 The single tie that doth earth's nations bind. 
 Is the brave ship that ploughs the boundless deep. 
 Sainted be he, who, noblest of his kind, 
 Loosed the first sail across the wave to sweep — 
 On every deck a shrine should fresh his memory keep ! 
 
30 
 
 LXVI. 
 
 It was the bright and beauteous month of May, 
 And gaily clad Potomac's banks were seen ; 
 The snowy dogwood spread its white array 
 Of blooming beauty — mid the living green 
 The chaste magnolia, Nature's vernal queen, 
 Reared its pure flower — the honeysuckle wild 
 Lent its bright bloom to animate the scene — 
 The azure violet, Flora's loveliest child, 
 Humble, yet fair, amid creation's glories smiled, 
 
 LXVIl. 
 
 In stately majesty the home-bound barque. 
 Mid all this bloom and beauty onward moved; . 
 And many an eye the lovely scene did mark, 
 But none with more unceasing rapture roved 
 Than his, who Nature's glories always loved ; 
 And now, when to his view the ocean's wave 
 Had weeks on weeks the only barrier proved, 
 Now, to the ocean foam no more a slave. 
 Like a caged bird let loose, wings to his soul he gave. 
 
 Lxvni. 
 
 That mount — that sacred mount now met the view 
 Where lived the best, the greatest of his race ; 
 To God, his Country, and his Nature true, 
 The Hero-Christian there met Death's embrace ; 
 And there the marble doth that form encase 
 Which men did almost worship here below. 
 Sacred, forever sacred, be that place — 
 O'er that lone tomb a Nation's tears do flow. 
 And generations yet unborn, to worship there shall go. 
 
31 
 
 LXIX. 
 
 Fitz Clarence gazed with longing eyes upon 
 That home of him whose name is still so dear ; 
 "And there," he said, '^ there once was Washington! 
 " I can with holy awe the soil revere 
 " Where he hath knelt in hope, unknowing fear, 
 " And for his country urged his earnest prayer. 
 " That prayer was heard, for, oh, a conscience clear 
 "Of all offence, raised it to Heaven, and there, 
 " The Holy One on high answered the righteous' prayer. 
 
 LXX. 
 
 Oh may the shades of Vernon ever be 
 His place of rest — there let his ashes sleep — 
 There has the soldier mourned on bended knee — 
 There the good Lafayette scorned not to weep ; 
 And every heart would feel, both strong and deep. 
 The jewel from the casket had been torn, 
 If, from the tomb which now that form doth keep, 
 The holy relics should away be borne. 
 And every patriot would the desecration mourn. 
 
 LXXI. 
 
 The ship hath made her port — and Clarence, too. 
 To meet the loved ones of his earliest days 
 Has hurried onward many a city through. 
 Brooking no stay — impatient of delays ; 
 And he hath found them all. If e'er he strays 
 From his New England hearth again to roam, 
 No foreign soil shall mark his wandering ways, 
 No more he'll tempt old Ocean's briny foam, 
 For he doth love too well his own, his native home !