The Castaway
by William Cowper |
| Obscurest night involved the
sky, |
| The Atlantic
billows roared, |
| When such a destined wretch as
I, |
| Washed headlong
from on board, |
| Of friends, of hope, of all
bereft, |
His floating home for ever
left.
|
| No braver chief could Albion
boast |
| Than he with whom
he went, |
| Nor ever ship left Albion's
coast, |
| With warmer wishes
sent. |
| He loved them both, but both in
vain, |
Nor him beheld, nor her again.
|
| Not long beneath the
whelming brine, |
| Expert to swim, he
lay; |
| Nor soon he felt his strength
decline, |
| Or courage die
away; |
| But waged with death a lasting
strife, |
Supported by despair of life.
|
| He shouted: nor his friends had
failed |
| To check the
vessel's course, |
| But so the furious blast
prevailed, |
| That, pitiless
perforce, |
| They left their outcast mate
behind, |
And scudded still before the
wind.
|
| Some succour yet they could
afford; |
| And, such as
storms allow, |
| The cask, the coop, the floated
cord, |
| Delayed not to
bestow. |
| But he (they knew) nor ship,
nor shore, |
Whate'er they gave, should
visit more.
|
| Nor, cruel as it seemed, could
he |
| Their haste
himself condemn, |
| Aware that flight, in such a
sea, |
| Alone could rescue
them; |
| Yet bitter felt it still to die |
Deserted, and his friends so
nigh.
|
| He long survives, who lives an
hour |
| In ocean,
self-upheld; |
| And so long he, with unspent
power, |
| His destiny
repelled; |
| And ever, as the minutes flew, |
Entreated help, or cried -
Adieu!
|
| At length, his transient
respite past, |
| His comrades, who
before |
| Had heard his voice in every
blast, |
| Could catch the
sound no more. |
| For then, by toil subdued, he
drank |
The stifling wave, and then he
sank.
|
| No poet wept him: but the page |
| Of narrative
sincere, |
| That tells his name, his worth,
his age, |
| Is wet with
Anson's tear. |
| And tears by bards or heroes
shed |
Alike immortalize the dead.
|
| I therefore purpose not, or
dream, |
| Descanting on his
fate, |
| To give the melancholy theme |
| A more enduring
date: |
| But misery still delights to
trace |
Its semblance in another's
case.
|
| No voice divine the storm
allayed, |
| No light
propitious shone; |
| When, snatched from all
effectual aid, |
| We perished, each
alone: |
| But I beneath a rougher sea, |
| And whelmed in deeper gulfs
than he. |
| |
| Norfolk Poems |
Supported
by Norfolk Tourism