He sees his prize, and now he turns again, Slowly and sorrowing--"Was your search in vain?" Gruffly he answers, "'Tis a sorry sight! A seaman's body: there'll be more to-night!" Hark! to those sounds! they're from distress at sea; How quick they come! What terrors may there be! Yes, 'tis a driven vessel: I discern Lights, signs of terror, gleaming from the stern; Others behold them too, and from the town In various parties seamen hurry down; Their wives pursue, and damsels urged by dread, Lest men so dear be into danger led; Their head the gown has hooded, and their call In this sad night is piercing like the squall; They feel their kinds of power, and when they meet, Chide, fondle, weep, dare, threaten, or entreat. See one poor girl, all terror and alarm, Has fondly seized upon her lover's arm; "Thou shalt not venture;" and he answers "No! I will not:"--still she cries, "Thou shalt not go." No need of this; not here the stoutest boat Can through such breakers, o'er such billows float, Yet may they view these lights upon the beach, Which yield them hope whom help can never reach. From parted clouds the moon her radiance throws On the wild waves, and all the danger shows; But shows them beaming in her shining vest, Terrific splendour! gloom in glory dress'd! This for a moment, and then clouds again Hide every beam, and fear and darkness reign. But hear we not those sounds? Do lights appear? I see them not! the storm alone I hear: And lo! the sailors homeward take their way; Man must endure--let us submit and pray. Such are our Winter-views: but night comes on - Now business sleeps, and daily cares are gone; Now parties form, and some their friends assist To waste the idle hours at sober whist; The tavern's pleasure or the concert's charm Unnumber'd moments of their sting disarm: Play-bills and open doors a crowd invite, To pass off one dread portion of the night; And show and song and luxury combined, Lift off from man this burthen of mankind. Others advent'rous walk abroad and meet Returning parties pacing through the street, When various voices, in the dying day, Hum in our walks, and greet us in our way; When tavern-lights flit on from room to room, And guide the tippling sailor staggering home: There as we pass, the jingling bells betray How business rises with the closing day: Now walking silent, by the river's side, The ear perceives the rippling of the tide; Or measured cadence of the lads who tow Some entered hoy, to fix her in her row; Or hollow sound, which from the parish-bell To some departed spirit bids farewell! Thus shall you something of our BOROUGH know, Far as a verse, with Fancy's aid, can show. Of Sea or River, of a Quay or Street, The best description must be incomplete; But when a happier theme succeeds, and when Men are our subjects and the deeds of men, Then may we find the Muse in happier style, And we may sometimes sigh and sometimes smile. LETTER II.