STANZAS ON THE LOSS OF THE JESSIE. V7 
Of fair friends who on shore remain, 
White hands are waved and kerchiefs float ; 
And eyes at length are strain’d in vain 
To mark the forms on which they doat. 
Hope's visions dance before their sight; 
No damp of fear the voy gers feel ; 
Quick o’er the waters blue and bright 
Their bosoms bound, as bounds the keel. 
Then little thought they yon bright sun, 
That elitter'd on their heaving stem, 
When that day's glad career was run, 
Would rise no more for some of them ! 
Night came: a tempest swept the deep ; 
The fitful moon all feebly shone ; 
An anxious watch the seamen keep ; 
The fresh’ning gale impels them on. 
One moment—and before the blast 
The gallant bark sublimely rode ; 
Another—and above her mast 
The welt'ring billows fiercely flow'd ! 
And where are they—the thirty souls 
Whom late that vanish’d vessel bore ? 
The sullen wave above them rolls,— 
Yet some have reach'd the distant shore. 
And there they sit forlorn, and bend 
O’er the wild wave their eager view, 
If more the ruthless sea might send 
To join them, of that fated crew. 
In vain :—no move they reach the land; 
The inmost chambers of the main 
The fairest of that once gay band 
Within their gloomy bounds detain. 
