Glen Collection of printed music > Printed text > Harp of Renfrewshire

33,3
But who, so lonely, wanders on the shore
At midnight's dreary hour, depriv'd of sleex^ —
And shrinks to hear the foaming billows roar.
And through the sky the angry tempest sweep ?
With trembling limbs oft climbs the jutting steep,
And to the ocean turns a wistful eye 1
'Tis her, whose husband ploughs the trackless deep,
And who, for her, beneath a foreign sky
Oft lifts his eyes to Heaven, and heaves the deep-drawn
sigh.
At last the long-expected bark appears —
Th' advent 'rous keel the dark blue wave divides,
Till she, at length, the wish'd-for harbour nears,
And, safely there, once more at anchor rides.
The hardy tar in whom Old England prides —
Who ploughs the unfathom'd deep from pole to pole ;
Who fearless braves the rudest storms and tides —
O'erwhelm'd, now meets the mistress of his soul,
Wliile down his cheeks, with joy, the bursting torrents roll.
Away ! ye rude, who mock those bursts of joy —
Those melting scenes of ecstacy and bliss ;
Who deem that wedlock's pleasures soon must cloy,
And in debauch'ry revel to excess :
The false and short-liv'd pleasures ye possess.
Vanish like bubbles on the stream that flows.
Alas ! ye nothing know of happiness, —
Your joys produce an endless chain of woes
That never can but with your own existence close.
And, hence, ye dormant few, who ne'er have felt
The soft impulse of love's delicious flame —
Whose callous bosoms never learn'd to melt — ■
Nor thrill to hear the mention of a name !