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The Alien Boy

'Twas on a Mountain, near the Western

An

EN dwelt.  A solitary

Built on a jutting crag, o'erhung with weeds,

Mark'd the poor Exile's home.  Full ten long

The melancholy wretch had liv'd

By all, save

RY, a lov'd, little

The partner of his sorrows.  On the

When Persecution, in the sainted

Of Liberty, spread wide its venom'd pow'r,

The brave,

Saint

RT, fled his Lordly home,

And, with his baby Son, the mountain sought.

Resolv'd to cherish in his bleeding

The secret of his birth,

Ah! birth too

For his now humbled state, from

He taught him, labour's task:  He bade him

The dreary day of cold

By patience and by toil.  The Summer

Shone on the pillow of his rushy bed;

The noontide, sultry hour, he fearless

On the shagg'd eminence; while the young

Skipp'd, to the cadence of his minstrelsy.

At night young

RY trimm'd the faggot

While oft,

Saint

RT, wove the ample

To snare the finny victim.  Oft they

And talk'd, while sullenly the waves would

Dashing the sandy shore.  Saint

RT'S

Would swim in tears of fondness, mix'd with joy,

When he observ'd the op'ning harvest

Of promis'd intellect, which

RY'S soul,

Whate'er the subject of their talk, display'd.

Oft, the bold Youth, in question intricate,

Would seek to know the story of his birth;

Oft ask, who bore him: and with curious

Enquire, why he, and only one beside,

Peopled the desart mountain ?  Still his

Was slow of answer, and, in words obscure,

Varied the conversation.  Still the

Of

RY ponder'd; for, in their lone hut,

A daily journal would Saint

RT

Of his long banishment: and sometimes

Of Friends forsaken,

Kindred, massacred;—Proud mansions, rich domains, and joyous

For ever faded,—lost!

One winter time,'Twas on the Eve of Christmas, the shrill

Swept o'er the stormy main.  The boiling

Rose to an altitude so fierce and

That their low hovel totter'd.  Oft they

To the rock's margin, and with fearful

Mark'd the vex'd deep, as the slow rising

Gleam'd on the world of waters. 'Twas a

Would make a Stoic shudder!

For,

The wavy mountains, they beheld, alone ,

A

LE

AT, now scarcely visible;

And now not seen at all; or, like a buoy,

Bounding, and buffetting, to reach the shore!

Now the full Moon, in crimson lustre

Upon the outstretch'd Ocean.  The black

Flew stiffly on, the wild blast following,

And, as they flew, dimming the angry

With shadows horrible !  Still, the small

Struggled amid the waves, a sombre

Upon the wide domain of howling Death!

Saint

RT sigh'd !  while

RY'S speaking

Alternately the stormy scene

And his low hovel's safety.  So past

The hour of midnight,—and, since first they

The solitary scene, no midnight hourE'er seem'd so long and weary.

While they stood,

Their hands fast link'd together, and their

Fix'd on the troublous Ocean,

The breakers, bounding on the rocky shore,

Left the small wreck; and crawling on the

Of the rude crag,—a

AN

RM was seen!

And now he climb'd the foam-wash'd precipice,

And now the slip'ry weeds gave way, while

Descended to the sands:  The moon rose high—The wild blast paus'd, and the poor shipwreck'd

Look'd round aghast, when on the frowning

He marked the lonely exiles.  Now he

But he was feeble, and his voice was

Amid the din of mingling sounds that

From the wild scene of clamour.

Down the

Saint

ET hurried, boldly venturous,

Catching the slimy weeds, from point to point,

And unappall'd by peril.  At the

Of the rude rock, the fainting

Seiz'd on his outstretch'd arm; impatient, wild,

With transport exquisite !  But ere they

The blest exchange of sounds articulate,

A furious billow, rolling on the steep,

Engulph'd them in Oblivion!

On the

Young

RY stood; with palpitating heart,

And fear-struck, e'en to madness !  Now he call'd,

Louder and louder, as the shrill blast blew;

But, mid the elemental strife of sounds,

No human voice gave answer !  The clear

No longer quiver'd on the curling main,

But, mist-encircled, shed a blunted light,

Enough to shew all things that mov'd around,

Dreadful, but indistinctly !  The black

Wav'd, as the night-blast swept them; and

The rocky shore the breakers, sounding

Seem'd like the whisp'ring of a million

Beneath the green-deep mourning.

Four long

The lorn Boy listen'd !  four long tedious

Pass'd wearily away, when, in the

The grey beam coldly glimmer'd.  All

Young

RY stood aghast : his Eye wide fix'd;

While his dark locks, uplifted by the

Uncover'd met its fury.  On his

Despair sate terrible !  For, mid the woes,

Of poverty and toil, he had not known,

Till then, the horror-giving chearless

Of

AL

DE!

He spoke—he groan'd,

But no responsive voice, no kindred

Broke the dread pause:  For now the storm had ceas'd,

And the bright Sun-beams glitter'd on the

Of the green placid Ocean.  To his

The lorn Boy hasten'd; there the rushy couch,

The pillow still indented, met his

And fix'd his eye in madness.—From that hourA maniac wild, the Alien Boy has been;

His garb with sea-weeds fring'd, and his wan

The tablet of his mind, disorder'd, chang'd,

Fading, and worn with care.  And if, by chance,

A Sea-beat wand'rer from the outstretch'd

Views the lone Exile, and with gen'rous

Hastes to the sandy beach, he

Darts 'mid the cavern'd cliffs, and leaves

To track him, where no footsteps but his own,

Have e'er been known to venture !

ET HE

SA melancholy proof that Man may

All the rude storms of Fate, and still

By the wide world forgotten!

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Mary Darby Robinson

Mary Robinson (née Darby; 27 November 1757 – 26 December 1800) was an English actress, poet, dramatist, novelist, and celebrity figure. She live…
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