Sonnet Xii.

Lo! o'er the welkin the tempestuous clouds Successive fly, and the loud-piping wind Rocks the poor sea-boy on the dripping shrouds, While the pale pilot, o'er the helm reclined, Lists to the changeful storm: and as he plies His wakeful task, he oft bethinks him sad, Or wife and little home, and chubby lad, And the half strangled tear bedews his eyes; I, on the deck musing on themes forlorn, View the drear tempest, and the yawning deep, Nought dreading in the green sea's caves to sleep, For not for me shall wife or children mourn, And the wild winds will ring my funeral knell Sweetly, as solemn peal of pious passing-bell.