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163

THE ARRIVAL.

And homeward through the midnight with whirlwind-speed
  to ride,
'Twixt walls of leaping foam-flakes, red lightning for his
  guide !
Nor marvel at such choosing ! his soul hath pined in chains,
Borne slavery's sharp anguish, its more than deathly pains
For years, till gold gave freedom — now swells his breast
  with joy,
To think how glad they'll greet him, their long lost island-
  boy,
With blessing, with caressing — Oh, here how shall he wait
For sluggish winds that loiter, and keels with fettering
  freight !
Long, long with foot impatient from stem to stern he strode,
Then, weary, o'er the bulwarks he leaned in peevish mood,
And bent his eyes, half conscious, upon the placid flood.

When rudely tossed by passion, thy heart has striven in vain
Through reason's sovereign mandate its quiet to regain,
When cares of life were rolling their wild and vapory rack