The Rhode Island American, And General Advertiser

FROM THE SALEM GAZETTE.
THE FATHER'S DREAM.
AN IMITATION OF THE SAILOR BOY.
When night in his wings shut the world from the light
And the toils of the day were all hush'd in repose;
A father, whose breast was the throne of delight.
In the clasp of sweet sleep sought his eyelids to close.
Then fancy stood near, with her magical wand,
And depictur'd landscape of life's brightest joys:
The goblet of sweets is grasp'd firm in his hand,
And no mixture of sorrow its fragrance destroys.
He dream'd that afar from his dear native shore,
On the ocean's dark bosom he sought his lov'd home :
The breeze o'er the billows his galliot bore.
To the scenes from whose charms want compell'd him to roam.
He dream'd that twas night when the bark touch'd the land,
And the streamers wav'd loose on the sails of the wind;
His bosom heav'd wild as be leap'd on the strand,
And sought, mid the darkness, his dwelling to find.
Approach'd-all was still in the mansions of death,
And no sound soothes the fears that now torture his breast;
He mounts the cold step, and he scarce draws his breath
While he listens-no sound breaks the ominous rest.
But look! where the lamp thro' the window gleams bright;
He starts !-to his breast hope infuses new life;
He gaz'd where the rays shed their radiant light;
Thanks to God! (he exclaims) 'twas his partner, his wife.
He springs thro' the door on the pinions of wind;
The deep flush of emotion glow'd bright in his face;
He rush'd to her arms, on her bosom reclin'd,
And he bathes her warm cheek in his loving embrace.
His children, who scarcely can lisp his dear name,
Their fond arms round his neck in sweet innocence twine,
Or hide in his bosom their faces for shame,
And play with his buttons, and mark how they shine.
But hark! what dread clangour now bursts on his ear!
What light now illumines his visage so fair!
He starts from his slumbers so tranquil, so dear,
And his visions of happiness vanish in air.
Round his soft, downy couch the bright flames now aspire
And the clouds of dark smoke roll majestick around;
He clasps his fond wife, rushes frantic thro' fire,
And he bears his sweet burthen unhurt to the ground.
But ah! where his children ? enwrap'd in the flames?
It was death but to think !-where, oh where shall he go?
He enters the porch, calls aloud on their names!
And listens! no voice breaks the silence of woe!
On the black wing of night gleam'd the light of the rays.
Ting'd with orient red the bright face of the sky:
And the death-angel hovering high o'er the blaze;
On the ruin beneath turn'd his dark scowling eye.
How soon are now fled his fond dreame of delight!
How faded the picture which fancy had drawn!
Soon the fair day of life ends in dark, joyless night,
Tho' the gay tints of pleasure had gilded its dawn.
BART.