The Castaway.

Obscurest night involved the sky,     The Atlantic billows roard,     When such a destined wretch as I,     Washd headlong from on board,     Of friends, of hope, of all bereft,     His floating home for ever left.     No braver chief could Albion boast     Than he with whom he went,     Nor ever ship left Albions coast     With warmer wishes sent.     He loved them both, but both in vain,     Nor him beheld, nor her again.     Not long beneath the whelming brine,     Expert to swim, he lay;     Nor soon he felt his strength decline,     Or courage die away:     But waged with death a lasting strife,     Supported by despair of life.     He shouted; nor his friends had faild     To check the vessels course,     But so the furious blast prevaild,     That, pitiless perforce,     They left their outcast mate behind,     And scudded still before the wind.     Some succour yet they could afford;     And, such as storms allow,     The cask, the coop, the floated cord,     Delayed not to bestow:     But he, they knew, nor ship nor shore,     Whateer they gave, should visit more.     Nor, cruel as it seemd, could he     Their haste himself condemn,     Aware that flight, in such a sea,     Alone could rescue them;     Yet better felt it still to die     Deserted, and his friends so nigh.     He long survives, who lives an hour     In ocean, self-upheld:     And so long he, with unspent power,     His destiny repelld:     And ever, as the minutes flew,     Entreated help, or criedAdieu!     At length, his transient respite past,     His comrades, who before     Had heard his voice in every blast,     Could catch the sound no more:     For then, by toil subdued, he drank     The stifling wave, and then he sank.     No poet wept him; but the page     Of narrative sincere,     That tells his name, his worth, his age,     Is wet with Ansons tear;     And tears by bards or heroes shed     Alike immortalize the dead.     I therefore purpose not, or dream,     Descanting on his fate,     To give the melancholy theme     A more enduring date:     But misery still delights to trace     Its semblance in anothers case.     No voice divine the storm allayd,     No light propitious shone;     When, snatchd from all effectual aid,     We perishd, each alone:     But I beneath a rougher sea,     And whelmd in deeper gulfs than he.