[This poem is written on the chief character in the novel of the same name.]
Sleep on, Mehalah; let the rude waves beat
Their sullen music in thy deafened ear;
Whether they roar in storm, or whisper peace,
Thou canst not hear.
What matter though the gale in fury rave?
Beneath the surface, all is calm and fair;
Held close by flowers too beauteous for the day,
Thou slumberest there.
Unseen by mortal eye, the ocean sprites
Vie who shall deck thy form with fairest grace,
And many a sea-born flower and waving weed
Adorn thy face.
But when the shadows of descending day
Gleam on the marsh, and fire the western sea,
Thy spirit ’scapes the chains that bind it down,
And rises free.
As vesper chimes grow dimmer and more faint,
And sink to silence, conquered by the storm,
The fishers, hast’ning home to those they love,
Behold thy form,
Thy face so proud, thine eyes so dim and sad,
Thy hair unshackled streaming towards the west,
The crimson ‘Gloriana’ burning bright
Upon thy breast.
But as they gaze, the vision fades away,
Dragged to the depths by iron hand and chain;
The seamew shrieks, and darkness o’er the world
Resumes his reign.
