Literary Cadet, And Saturday Evening Bulletin

POETRY.

The stanzas which we copy below, originally appeared in the Rhode Island American, when that paper was conducted with signal ability, by Professor Goddard, and the Reverend James D. Knowles. With the exception of the last five stanzas, they were written by the late George R. Burnill, Esq. a gentleman who to an original and highly gifted genius, united the ornaments and embellishments of a finished education. They were found among the papers of the deceased, in an unfinished state, and such was the poetic spirit that pervaded, that the junior Editor of the American, added the remaining stanzas; and following the measure, and the feeling of the original, presented them to the public in the shape in which they now appear.

This little effusion has had a very extensive run; and with pride, we beheld it some years since, copied into the London Courier, though we were at the same time mortified, to notice that it was wrongfully accredited to an English bard. As we esteem this poem, as one of the brightest gems in the chaplet of Rhode Island poetry, and as we venerate the memory of the distinguished yet unfortunate bard from whose pen it emanated, we copy it for our benefit and gratification, and doubt not our readers will approve our intention.

THE PIRATE.

From the isles of the ocean, with riches untold,
The Pirate return'd to his hall and his bride:
There were jewels, and garments of tissue of gold,
Which weakness and wealth had reluctantly supplied,

The Pirate could love, and his voice and big eye,
That thunder'd in tempest, and lightened in fight,
Were soft as the dove's, when his fair one was nigh,
And spoke in sweet harmony, love and delight.

Who would have believed that the gems of the east
Could render that beauty more beautiful still?
Yet loveliness there may by art be increased,
By the finger of taste, and the labour of skill.

"Now borrow and lend," ye mutually seek,"
The gallantry said, while the casket unclosed;
And threw, with light hand, the pearl rows o'er her neck,
While the diamond low hung on her bosom reposed.

"Now ruby, look hotly," he said, "for thy fame;
And sapphire, look heavenly, or forfeit the prize;
Her arm and her hand your protection will claim:
And know, ye're to rival her lips and her eyes,

But why do the ruby and sapphire look pale?
And why are the diamond and pearl become dim?
Why shudder the lady? why do her eyes fail?
And why does she fix them so ghastly on him?

"Oh! snatch off this necklace, this bracelet un clasp,
The ring! on my blood where they touch me, runs cold:
'Tis the touch of the vampire, mortality's grasp:
In bridal it chills like the rattlesnake's fold.

"There's blood on thy sword, 'tis the innocent blood,
A babe and a mother have died in their gore!
Oh! wash it, if water suffice, in the flood:
Oh! spare me, my spouse, or hear it no more,"

The Pirate withdrew. In the isles of the sea,
He had rush'd sword in hand, to the rich merchant's hall;
The babe scream'd aloud: no such clamour must be,
And he brain'd it, and dash'd out its life on the wall.

"Base, murderer, stay, hear a mother, Oh! stay!
Oh! childless be thou, and accursed," she cried:
Her cry might alarm, and invite death to dye,
And the curse yet unfinished, he smote off her head:

In seizing on her necklace, all dripping with gore,
Tear pearl and a diamond; he turn'd to retire:
When lo! on her wrist the red ruby she wore,
And fix'd on her finger the azure sapphire,

His hand was workmanlike the arm to unbind,
And life or death hung on a moment's delay:
Her sword was expert in the hand unconfined,
Which he bore with its gems purple-streaming away:

The breath of her curse was not wasted in air,
For conscience soon woke, and strewed thorns on his pillow:
Death stole his fair bride, and in frantic despair,
He rush'd to encounter the foe on the billow.

Oh! fierce was the fight, for that Pirate was brave:
And though fearful the odds, he no terror could know:
Till at length overpowered, his bark sunk in the wave,
Yet his flag proudly waving, ne'er quailed to the foe,

The wild rolling billow, which dash'd on the strand,
Wash'd the Pirate's grim form on the desolate shore.
His blade, hardly grasp'd, was yet clench'd in his heart
And his brow the stern frown of defiance still wore.

Unburied, unwash'd and unhonour'd he lay,
For hardy were he who should visit the spot!
The drenching winds scatter'd his ashes away,
But his name and his crimes shall be never forgot:

For dread are the tales which are whisper'd at night,
Of the marvels by seamen and fishermen told:
Of doubt on forms seen by the lightning flash bright.
And of sounds faintly heard as the thunder peal roll'd.