O'er the black stern the moonlight softly play'd, The loosen'd foresail flapping in the shade; All silent else on shore; but from the town A drowsy peal of distant bells came down: From the tall houses here and there, a light Served some confused remembrance to excite: "There," he observed, and new emotions felt, "Was my first home--and yonder Judith dwelt; Dead! dead are all! I long--I fear to know," He said, and walk'd impatient, and yet slow. Sudden there broke upon his grief a noise Of merry tumult and of vulgar joys: Seamen returning to their ship, were come, With idle numbers straying from their home; Allen among them mix'd, and in the old Strove some familiar features to behold; While fancy aided memory: --"Man! what cheer?" A sailor cried; "Art thou at anchor here?" Faintly he answer'd, and then tried to trace Some youthful features in some aged face: A swarthy matron he beheld, and thought She might unfold the very truths he sought: Confused and trembling, he the dame address'd: "The Booths! yet live they?" pausing and oppress'd; Then spake again: --"Is there no ancient man, David his name?--assist me, if you can. - Flemings there were--and Judith, doth she live?" The woman gazed, nor could an answer give,' Yet wond'ring stood, and all were silent by, Feeling a strange and solemn sympathy. The woman musing said--"She knew full well Where the old people came at last to dwell; They had a married daughter, and a son, But they were dead, and now remain'd not one." "Yes," said an elder, who had paused intent On days long past, "there was a sad event; - One of these Booths--it was my mother's tale - Here left his lass, I know not where to sail: She saw their parting, and observed the pain; But never came th' unhappy man again:" "The ship was captured"--Allen meekly said, "And what became of the forsaken maid?" The woman answer'd: "I remember now, She used to tell the lasses of her vow, And of her lover's loss, and I have seen The gayest hearts grow sad where she bas been; Yet in her grief she married, and was made Slave to a wretch, whom meekly she obey'd, And early buried--but I know no more: And hark! our friends are hast'ning to the shore." Allen soon found a lodging in the town, And walk'd a man unnoticed up and down, This house, and this, he knew, and thought a face He sometimes could among a number trace: Of names remember'd there remain'd a few, But of no favourites, and the rest were new: A merchant's wealth, when Allen went to sea, Was reckon'd boundless.--Could he living be? Or lived his son? for one he had, the heir To a vast business, and a fortune fair. No! but that heir's poor widow, from her shed, With crutches went to take her dole of bread: There was a friend whom he had left a boy, With hope to sail the master of a hoy; Him, after many a stormy day, he found With his great wish, his life's whole purpose, crown'd. This hoy's proud captain look'd in Allen's face, - "Yours is, my friend," said he, "a woeful case;