Lines On Seeing The Poem by Fidelia S T Hill

And art thou safely moored at last
So 'long of wind, and waves the sport?'
A proud and gallant bark thou wast
As ever sailed from London's port. —
And still to heart, and memory dear
I see, and greet thee with a tear! —
'Twas thou that waftedst o'er the wave
The ill-fated Chief, who gave thy name
On Afric's coast to find a grave,
The victim of his forward fame,
And 'circled by a savage band
Fighting to fall in foreign land!
And times are changed since first in thee
Across the far Atlantic borne,
With fairer hopes I put to sea,
Than now my weary path adorn,
Whilst thou didst o'er the ocean glide
With spreading sail, the seaman's pride.
I thought not, as I walked thy deck
That I such varied ills should see,
That thou so soon, shouldst prove a wreck,
And linked with thine, my destiny;
And that of one, whose care and skill,
'Mid threatening perils, steer'd thee still.
Nor seldom while the heedless crew
And their commander soundly slept,
'Tho passenger, — a seaman true,
O'er thee a nightly watch he kept.
To his exertions, under heaven
Thy safety and our lives were given!
And now that thou art moored at last
So 'long of winds, and waves the sport,'
I can but think, on what thou wast,
When first I sailed from London's port,
What wonder as I see thee near,
I sigh, and greet thee with a tear!