I seemed transported to another world;

A thought resigned with pain, when from the

mast

The impatient mariner the sail unfurled,
And, whistling, called the wind that hardly
curled
The silent sea. From the sweet thoughts of

home

And from all hope I was for ever hurled.
For me-farthest from earthly port to roam
Was best, could I but shun the spot where man
might come.

XLI.

And oft I thought (my fancy was so strong)
That I, at last, a resting-place had found;
'Here will I dwell,' said I, 'my whole life long,
Roaming the illimitable waters round;
Here will I live, of all but heaven disowned,
And end my days upon the peaceful flood.'-
To break my dream the vessel reached its bound;
And homeless near a thousand homes I stood,
And near a thousand tables pined and wanted
food.

XLII.

No help I sought; in sorrow turned adrift,
Was hopeless, as if cast on some bare rock;
Nor morsel to my mouth that day did lift,
Nor raised my hand at any door to knock.'
I lay where, with his drowsy mates, the cock
From the cross-timber of an out-house hung :
Dismally tolled, that night, the city clock!
At morn my sick heart hunger scarcely stung,
Nor to the beggar's language could I fit my
tongue.

XLIII.

So passed a second day; and, when the third Was come, I tried in vain the crowd's resort. --In deep despair, by frightful wishes stirred, Near the sea-side I reached a ruined fort; There, pains which nature could no more support,

With blindness linked, did on my vitals fall;
And, after many interruptions short
of hideous sense, I sank, nor step could crawl:
Unsought for was the help that did my life recal.
/ XLIV.

Borne to a hospital, I lay with brain
Drowsy and weak, and shattered memory:
I heard my neighbours in their beds complain
Of many things which never troubled me---
Of feet still bustling round with busy glee,

Of looks where common kindness had no part,
Of service done with cold formality,
Fretting the fever round the languid heart,

Have I." She ceased, and weeping turned

away;

As if because her tale was at an end,

Through tears the rising sun I oft have viewed, Through tears have seen him towards that world descend

Where my poor heart lost all its fortitude:

Of that perpetual weight which on her spirit lay.

Within himself he said-What hearts have we! The blessing this a father gives his child! Suffering not doing ill-fate far more mild.

Oh! tell me whither-for no earthly friend

B

February 28, 1842.

ACT I.

SCENE-Road in a Wood.

WALLACE and LACY.

Lacy. The Troop will be impatient; let us hie Back to our post, and strip the Scottish Foray Of their rich Spoil, ere they recross the Border. -Pity that our young Chief will have no part In this good service. Wal. Rather let us grieve That, in the undertaking which has caused His absence, he hath sought, whate'er his aim, Companionship with One of crooked ways, From whose perverted soul can come no good To our confiding, open-hearted, Leader.

Lacy. True; and, remembering how the Band have proved

That Oswald finds small favour in our sight, Well may we wonder he has gained such power Over our much-loved Captain.

Wal.

I have heard

Of some dark deed to which in early life
His passion drove him-then a Voyager
Upon the midland Sea. You knew his bearing
In Palestine?

Lacy. Where he despised alike
Mohammedan and Christian. But enough;
Let us begone-the Band may else be foiled.
[Exeunt.

Enter MARMADUKE and WILFRED. Wil. Be cautious, my dear Master! Mar. I perceive