Page:Pledge of Friendship 1828.pdf/5



Even fearful the strife of the sky and the sea— The time of their battle; but what must it be, When we know that our heart has its all on the wave, And yet look on the main as we look on the grave.

But the clouds are dispersing, the wild hour is past, And the setting sun masters the tempest at last; There is peace on the sky, there is rest on the sea, But the peace and the rest are not, Leila, for thee.

Scene of wild beauty, the black clouds are driven, Like rebels subdued, from their empire o'er heaven; Clear as a crystal, now spreads the bright west, Where the glad orb is sinking in glory to rest.

A purple gloom hangs o'er the north, but the light Is breaking around it, the waters are bright, Like mirrors for sunshine, and silver with foam, Like the sea-bird's white wings that now over them roam.

But sad is such hour, though the tempest be o'er, And the sky and the sea be as calm as before: The glory is mockery, the beauty is doom,— The light froth, the glad sunlight, are they for the tomb?

The heart hath its omens; she rushed from her tower, The wave wind-borne dashed o'er her, she felt not the shower: We watched her dark hair stream as onwards she prest; One faithful slave followed, and told us the rest.

She found him; some instinct had led her the way, Where, borne by the billows, and washed by the spray, Lay Othman. Oh, thus must he meet his young bride! 'Twas but one moment’s parting—she sank by his side!