Sharp violins proclaim Their jealous pangs, and desperation, Depth of pains, and height of passion, But O, what art can teach, Orpheus could lead the savage race; But bright Cecilia raised the wonder higher : LESSON CLIII. The Sailor's Mother. SOUTHEY. Woman. SIR, for the love of God, some small relief Whither are you bound? 'Tis a late hour to travel o'er these downs; No house for miles around us, and the way Dreary and wild. The evening wind already Woman. Ay, sir, - 'Tis cutting keen! I smart at every breath: Traveller. Nay, nay, cheer up! a little food and rest Woman. Sir, I am going To see my son at Plymouth, sadly hurt Traveller. He yet may live. But if the worse should chance, why, you must bear Be left to mourn his loss. Your grateful country, Remembers those who paid its price of blood, And with a noble charity relieves Woman. God reward them! God bless them! It will help me in my age. Traveller. Was he your only child?" Woman. My only one, The stay and comfort of my widowhood! A dear good boy! - When first he went to sea, If it be true that for a hurt like his There is no cure. Please God to spare his life, Though he be blind, yet I should be so thankful! I can remember there was a blind man Lived in our village, one, from his youth up, Quite dark; and yet he was a merry man ; And he had none to tend on him so well Traveller. Of this be sure: His hurts are looked to well; and the best help Woman. No, sir poor fellow! he was wise enough As any in the country. He was left And call his mother's name. We two were all; We bore up well. In the summer time I worked And in long winter nights my spinning-wheel A comely lad, and wondrous well disposed. : I taught him well there was not in the parish Traveller. But how came it He chose to be a sailor? Woman. You shall hear, sir. As he grew up, he used to watch the birds In the corn, child's work, you know, and easily done. 'Tis an idle sort of task: so he built up A little hut of wicker-work and clay Or crush them with its weight, or else a spring He did what he should not, when he was older. Traveller. The choice at least Was kindly left him; and for broken laws Woman. So I was told, sir, and I tried to think so; O, very wrong, a murrain on his traps! See what they've brought him to! Traveller. Well! well! take comfort. He will be taken care of, if he lives; And should you lose your child, this is a country Where the brave sailor never leaves a parent To weep for him in want. Woman. Sir, I shall want No succor long. In the common course of years, I soon must be at rest; and 'tis a comfort, |