Part 5 (2/2)
She groan'd and groan'd, but her groans grew Fainter at morning tide, Fainter and fainter still they came Till at the noon she died.
They flung her overboard;--poor wretch She rested from her pain,-- But when--O Christ! O blessed G.o.d!
Shall I have rest again!
I saw the sea close over her, Yet she was still in sight; I see her twisting every where; I see her day and night.
Go where I will, do what I can The wicked one I see-- Dear Christ have mercy on my soul, O G.o.d deliver me!
To morrow I set sail again Not to the Negroe sh.o.r.e-- Wretch that I am I will at least Commit that sin no more.
O give me comfort if you can-- Oh tell me where to fly-- And bid me hope, if there be hope, For one so lost as I.
Poor wretch, the stranger he replied, Put thou thy trust in heaven, And call on him for whose dear sake All sins shall be forgiven.
This night at least is thine, go thou And seek the house of prayer, There shalt thou hear the word of G.o.d And he will help thee there!
Jaspar.
The stories of the two following ballads are wholly imaginary. I may say of each as John Bunyan did of his 'Pilgrim's Progress',
”It came from mine own heart, so to my head, And thence into my fingers trickled; Then to my pen, from whence immediately On paper I did dribble it daintily.”
JASPAR
Jaspar was poor, and want and vice Had made his heart like stone, And Jaspar look'd with envious eyes On riches not his own.
On plunder bent abroad he went Towards the close of day, And loitered on the lonely road Impatient for his prey.
No traveller came, he loiter'd long And often look'd around, And paus'd and listen'd eagerly To catch some coming sound.
He sat him down beside the stream That crossed the lonely way, So fair a scene might well have charm'd All evil thoughts away;
He sat beneath a willow tree That cast a trembling shade, The gentle river full in front A little island made,
Where pleasantly the moon-beam shone Upon the poplar trees, Whose shadow on the stream below Play'd slowly to the breeze.
He listen'd--and he heard the wind That waved the willow tree; He heard the waters flow along And murmur quietly.
He listen'd for the traveller's tread, The nightingale sung sweet,-- He started up, for now he heard The sound of coming feet;
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