Poems of Letitia Elizabeth Landon (L. E. L.) in Friendship’s Offering, 1836/The Black Seal
THE BLACK SEAL
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THE BLACK SEAL.
BY L. E. L.
Far, far across the sunny sea,
The gallant vessel goes;
Her white wings like a sea-bird's spread
That hovers o'er its foes.
Her decks are armed, the battle flag
Floats red around the mast;
And other ships have lowered theirs
Where'er that flag has past.
Her course has been amid those isles,
Those western isles which first,
Like some sweet dream of Paradise,
Upon the Spaniard burst.
With scarlet flowers that light their hills
And valleys that are bright,
With golden creepers—and with birds,
That sparkle in their flight.
Yet danger haunts those lovely isles,
The fever and the foe—
The brighter that the sun-beams fall,
The deeper shade they throw.
But that fair ship has 'scaped them all,
The battle and the wreck;
The fever has not touched a man
Upon her crowded deck.
Now home to England, home again,
Across the waves they go—
With triumph in her swelling sails,
And treasure down below.
Ah! many a hearth is happy now,
And those who feared before,
Now the good ship is homeward bound,
Believe in hope once more.
Two orphans—lovely sisters they—
Had worn the winter through;
The elder, for the younger's sake,
Watched the wild waters blue.
But now they looked, with eager eyes,
Towards the setting sun;
Rejoicing, as the evening came,
Another day was done.
For they began to count the hours,
When, from the salt sea foam,
Back, to his long betrothed bride,
Their sailor would come home.
But human hope is vanity,
And human trust is vain;
Oh pity for them!—could their eyes
Have looked across the main,
They would have seen a youthful step
Grow weaker day by day;
They would have seen the hues of health
Waste gradual away.
One only, of the hardy crew,
That stately vessel bore,
Was doomed to see his native land
And his true love no more.
One mournful eve—a sullen plunge
Was heard below the wave—
The cannon pealed, the wild wind swept
O'er the young sailor's grave.
Days passed, they knew not of his death—
They looked for his return—
No more for him their porch shall bloom,
No more their hearth shall burn.
A letter comes, 'tis sealed with black,
What doth such letter here?
She takes it—scarce her trembling hand
Can break that seal—for fear.
She drops the scroll—her sister's arm
Supports the sinking head;
What of the loved one far away?
It tells her—he is dead.