The Captive Pirate

HE captive pirate sate alone,

Musing over triumphs gone,

Gazing on the clear blue

From his dungeon window high.

Dreamingly he sate, and

Of battles he had seen and fought;

And fancy o'er him threw her spell.

He deemed he had not bid

To the friends who loved him best:

O'er the white wave's snowy

Seems he now once more to sail,

Borne by the triumphant gale:

Cheerily the light bark bounds,

In his ears the music

Of hoarsely mingling waves and voices,

And his inmost soul rejoices!

He gives the signal of command,

He waves—he drops—the lifted hand!

It was a sound of clashing steel—Why starts he thus? what doth he feel?

The clanking of his iron

Hath made him prisoner again!

He groans, as memory round him

The shades of half-forgotten things.

His friends! his faithful friends!—a

Bursts from that bosom swelling high.

His bark! his gallant bark!—a

Darkens the eye that knew not fear.

And another meaner

Must lead his men to death or fame!

And another form must stand(Captain of his mourning band)On the deck he trod so well,

While his bark o'er ocean's

Is sailing far, far out at sea,

Where he never more may be!

Oh! to be away once

From the dark and loathsome shore!

Oh! again the sound to

Of his ship's crew's hearty cheer!

Souls who by his side have stood,

Careless of their ebbing blood,

Wiped the death-dew from their brow,

And feebly smiled their truth to show!

Little does the Pirate

Freedom now were but a dream;

Little does the chieftain

That his lost companions

Strugglingly by the salt sea wave,

Once their home, and now their grave!

And the bark from which they part,(While his sad and heavy

Yearns to tread her gallant deck,)Helpless lies, a heaving wreck!

And little will they deem, who

Hereafter in their floating home,

While their sunlit sail is spread,

That it gleams above the dead—That the faithless wave rolls

Calmly, as they were not gone,

While its depths warm hearts doth cover,

Whose beatings were untimely over!

And little will they deem, who

Safe upon the sea-girt land,

That to the stranger all it

Was—a prison and a grave!

That the ruin'd fortress

Number'd his despairing hours,

And beneath their careless tread,

Sleeps—the broken-hearted dead!