Poems, 1799 Part 5

Nor did the Sailor so intent His entering footsteps heed, But now the Lord's prayer said, and now His half-forgotten creed.

And often on his Saviour call'd With many a bitter groan, In such heart-anguish as could spring From deepest guilt alone.

He ask'd the miserable man Why he was kneeling there, And what the crime had been that caus'd The anguish of his prayer.

Oh I have done a wicked thing!

It haunts me night and day, And I have sought this lonely place Here undisturb'd to pray.

I have no place to pray on board So I came here alone, That I might freely kneel and pray, And call on Christ and groan.

If to the main-mast head I go, The wicked one is there, From place to place, from rope to rope, He follows every where.

I shut my eyes,--it matters not-- Still still the same I see,-- And when I lie me down at night 'Tis always day with me.

He follows follows every where, And every place is h.e.l.l!

O G.o.d--and I must go with him In endless fire to dwell.

He follows follows every where, He's still above--below, Oh tell me where to fly from him!

Oh tell me where to go!

But tell me, quoth the Stranger then, What this thy crime hath been, So haply I may comfort give To one that grieves for sin.

O I have done a cursed deed The wretched man replies, And night and day and every where 'Tis still before my eyes.

I sail'd on board a Guinea-man And to the slave-coast went; Would that the sea had swallowed me When I was innocent!

And we took in our cargo there, Three hundred negroe slaves, And we sail'd homeward merrily Over the ocean waves.

But some were sulky of the slaves And would not touch their meat, So therefore we were forced by threats And blows to make them eat.

One woman sulkier than the rest Would still refuse her food,-- O Jesus G.o.d! I hear her cries-- I see her in her blood!

The Captain made me tie her up And flog while he stood by, And then he curs'd me if I staid My hand to hear her cry.

She groan'd, she shriek'd--I could not spare For the Captain he stood by-- Dear G.o.d! that I might rest one night From that poor woman's cry!

She twisted from the blows--her blood Her mangled flesh I see-- And still the Captain would not spare-- Oh he was worse than me!

She could not be more glad than I When she was taken down, A blessed minute--'twas the last That I have ever known!

I did not close my eyes all night, Thinking what I had done; I heard her groans and they grew faint About the rising sun.

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;