Virtue Its Own Reward

Lo! to the North dark scouls the rising storm,
It swells, it bursts with wide-resounding roar,
Quick-gathering clouds the face of day deform,
And the big wave incessant beats the shore.

Now all the caves that hold the winds, unbarr'd,
Each death-denouncing blast at once outflies,
Tremendous sounds, on ev'ry side, are heard;
One universal gloom obscures the skies:

One universal and unvarying gloom,
Save where with momentary cleave it breaks,
To give the flashing lightning's terror room,
While bellowing thunder air, earth, ocean, shakes.

The shudd'ring peasant from yon distant cot
Views with astonishment th' upturned main,
ThanksHeav'n, which granted him a tranquil lot,
And shields him in his homely thatch again.

Ah! sad ELIZA, what was then thy pain!
What anguish did thy gentle bosom tear!
Didst thou not tortures in each sound sustain,
And all Death's horrors in each object fear?

Didst thou not frequent turn thy woe-struck eye
Where the drench'd casement pointed to the main,
Reprove, implore the unrelenting sky,
With sobs that heav'd, and tears that stream'd in vain?

Didst thou not thus th' unpitying storm upbraid?
"Why now your cruel terrors send abroad,
"Why with destructive fires the port invade,
"Where HENRY's vessel seeks a quiet road?

"Where HENRY seeks his traffick and his toil,
"To crown with home-felt bliss and soft repose,
"Yet ye, unkind, his honest hopes beguile,
"And bid ELIZA's bosom teem with woes.

"Perhaps, ye ruthless messengers of Fate,
"Ye mean my HENRY shall no more return,
"Ye mean that here our loves shall close their date,
"The child a sire, the wise a husband mourn.

Her blooming boy, whom now ten suns had cheer'd,
Pitying the first sad sigh his mother heav'd,
Forth to the beach impetuous had repair'd,
Nor felt the blast, nor at the thunder griev'd.

Still the relentless storm dealt forth its wrath,
Still the swoll'n sky its streaming torrents pour'd,
Still the blue lightning menac'd frequent death,
Louder and louder still vex'd Ocean roar'd.

And was it, HENRY, in that ruthless hour,
Thy beating vessel sought the port to gain,
By ev'ry dang'rous gust at random tore,
In that dread conflict 'twixt the heav'ns and main?

It was.—Ah! hapless man, thy skill is vain!
The Pilot's hand no more the helm obeys,
The sails are rent; the main-mast splits in twain
Heart-piercing yells thewretched suff'rers raise.

But Heav'n, regardful of thy virtuous love,
Thy genuine truth, and honest industry,
Bade the disabled hulk self-guided move,
And make her harbour thro' the per'lous sea.

'Tis done—thy native cliffs appear in view,
The lightnings pause, the thunders cease to roar;
Down to the boat descend the eager crew,
And thro' tumultuous billows seek the shore.

Joy, rapture, gratitude, devotion—all
That goodness feels our HENRY's heart possess'd;
He sigh'd, he wept, he wonder'd, he ador'd;
Unutterable transport swell'd his breast.

Near, and more near, the plying oars advance,
HENRY devours the land with eager eye;
Now thinks with forward haste the surges dance,
Now thinks with loit'ring pace they backward hye:

When from the Pier, before his startled look,
A Child falls headlong in the foaming wave;
HENRY's prompt heart, with instant anguish struck,
Bleeds for the hapless boy, and yearns to save.

While he pervades the place, with eye intent,
Where the dividing flood the child receiv'd,
Th' upturning waves the struggling form present—
Again with mighty woe his bosom heav'd.

All that humanest Pity could persuade,
All that instinctive Piety enjoin,
In one great thought his glowing mind invade,
And swift he plunges in the foaming brine:

He plunges, and he grasps—one arm upheaves,
A[...]ove the waters, the declining head,
While, with the other combating the waves,
He ploughs his passage thro' the surfy bed.

His toil is o'er—his prize he brings to land,
His prize, no victim yet to hungry Death,
With softest care he lays him on the strand,
Chafes the chill form, to soothe back wand'ring breath.

Clear'd from the dripping locks, th' unclosing eyes
With languid sweetness now on HENRY shine,
When, with wild look, and voice suppress'd, he cries,
"It is—Oh! gracious God!—the Boy is mine!

The landed crew the Man of Virtue hail,
The Man of Virtue gath'ring crowds proclaim,
Each to his neighbour gives the wond'rous tale,
And panting rumour labours with his fame.

The buzzing train attend with eager pace,
As HENRY speeds to chase ELIZA's tears,
Close to his bosom lock'd in fond embrace,
His rescued treasure to her arms he bears.

The speechless joys of their encount'ring loves
What skill can paint, what language can record?
Replete with bliss the Man of Virtue proves,
THAT DEEDS OF VIRTUE ARE THEIR OWN REWARD.