'Whether weary, with toiling in vain, Or gay, from abundant success, I heard the same blessing again,-- I met the same tender caress: 'I fancied the perils repay'd, That could such affection ensure; By fondness and gratitude sway'd, I was eager to dare and endure. 'My cot did each comfort contain, And that gave my bosom delight; When drench'd by the winterly rain, I watch'd in my vessel at night. 'But, alas! from the tyrant, Disease, What love or what caution can save! A fever, more harsh than the seas, Consign'd my poor wife to the grave. 'My children, so tenderly rear'd, And pining for want of her care, Though more by my sorrows endear'd, Could not rescue my heart from despair. 'I tempted the dangers of night, And still labour'd hard at the oar, My sufferings appear'd to be light, But I suffer'd with pleasure no more. 'And yet, when some seasons had roll'd, I seem'd to awaken anew; My children I lov'd to behold, How tall and how comely they grew. 'My boy became hardy and bold, His spirit was buoyant and free; And, as I grew thoughtful and old, Was loud and oppressive to me. 'But the girl, like a bird in the bower, Awaken'd my hope and my pride; She won on my heart ev'ry hour, And I could not the preference hide. 'I mark'd the address and the care, The manner endearing and mild, Not dreaming those qualities rare Were to murther the peace of my child: 'That grandeur would ever descend To seek for so lowly a bride, Or his fair one, a lover pretend, From all she held dear to divide: 'That beauty was priz'd like a gem, Expected to dazzle and shine, Whose value the world would contemn, Unless trac'd to some Indian mine: 'Alas! hapless girl! had I known Thou hadst learnt to repine at thy lot; That splendour and rank were thy own, Thy home and thy father forgot: 'That lore and ambition assail'd, Thou hadst left us, whatever befel! My pardon and prayers had prevail'd, I had blest thee, and bade thee farewel! 'With thy husband, from this happy clime, I had seen thee for ever depart! Still hoping affection and time Might soften the pride of his heart: 'That a moment perhaps would arise, When, fondling a child on the knee, He might read, in its innocent eyes A lesson of pity for me. 'But lips, which till then never said A word to cause any one pain, Inform'd me, when reason had fled, Of a conflict it could not sustain. 'And he, who had wish'd to conceal That the woman he lov'd had been poor, Began all his folly to feel, When the victim could hearken no more.