71
A LEGEND OF TEIGNMOUTH.
The worn-out vessel reached the shore,
The weary sails sank down;
The seamen cleared her of the spoils
From many an Indian town.
And then Sir Francis fired the ship;
Yet tears were in his eyes,
When the last blaze of those old planks
Died in the midnight skies.
Next morning, ’twas a Sabbath morn
They sought that church, to pray;
And cold beside his maiden's tomb
The brave Sir Francis lay.
Oh, Death! the pitying that restor'd
The lover to his bride;
Once more the marble was unclosed,
They laid him at her side.
And still the evening sunshine sheds
Its beauty o’er that tomb;
Like heaven’s own hope, to mitigate
Earth’s too unkindly doom.
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