Classic Poem

ON HIS SETTING SAIL FOR JAMAICA

Y E Gales in gentle murmurs rise,
That waft my friend to distant skies!
Ye waves, that with tumultuous roar,
Lift your white heads and beat the shore;
Who wash, unfeeling, from the strand,
His footsteps printed in the sand;
Oh! yet your storms, your terrors cease,
And let him, let him pass in peace!

Alas! by early sorrows tried,
'Twas his to stem the briny tide;
'Twas his to quit his native shore,
And part from friends to meet no more,
Just ent'ring on life's rugged road,
When scarce the bud of reason blow'd.

'Twas his, when riper years arose,
To feel the weight of riper woes;
And ills unnumber'd still to prove,
The slave of Honor, and of Love!

'Twas his, (nor can the Muse deny,
To woes like these the pensive sigh!)
'Twas his, in life's meridian light,
To find the darksome shades of night;
For twelve long months to lose the day,
And mourn the tedious hours away!

'Twas his, on the tempestuous surge,
To stand on life's extremest verge,
To feel Affliction's inward wound,
While death, and darkness hover'd round!

Oh! let not Sorrow's poison'd dart,
For ever rankle in that heart,
Where friendship, truth, where honour glows;
But let the salt wave as it flows,
Conduct him to his lost repose; —
And soon with health and plenty crown'd,
Restore him to that happy ground,
Where lisping infants learn to know,
What sweets from gen'rous friendship flow.

There many a pray'r shall daily rise,
From guileless lips to reach the skies;
Once more in safety from the main,
To see their much-lov'd friend again;
That Sorrow's ev'ry storm may cease,
And Life's smooth tide roll on in peace.
That woe and anguish, pain and care,
Allied to darkness and despair,
Chas'd by fair Hope may wing their flight,
And sink in shades of endless night.