Should some white-winged ship, with her light pennon streaming, Thy heart on that wide watery desert to cheer, Arise, like a star through night's solitude beaming, With meteor swiftness she 'll soon disappear. And when the coy sea-bird, a wild ether-sailor, Comes near on her passage, for one language more, O! how wilt thou long, ere she flies thee, to hail her, To ask whither bound, and the tidings from shore! Yet, while so unstable, so pathless and lonely, Thy way o'er that desolate deep may be found, 'T is marked with the impress of Deity only; His merciful arms will thy frailty surround. 'T is grand, 't is ennobling, while feeling and knowing His presence is power, and his banner is love, To look from that flood, to the firmament showing Bright shadowings-forth of his glory above. And, William, though tempest and terrors assail thee-- Though clouds rolled on clouds hide the stars and the sun, Thy soul's chosen Friend never, never will fail thee! Winds and waves but obey that omnipotent ONE. While o'er and around thee thick darkness may gather; When wide yawns the deep, and the surges swell high, Thy spirit may hear the kind voice of her Father, Still whispering, "Be of good cheer; it is I." And safe may he bear thee through perils and changes Besetting his course, who so widely would roam, Then speed thy return from the land of the Ganges, From pagod and painim! Dear William, come home. Come home, where the eyes beam through tears to behold thee; Where arms open wide to receive thee will be; And promise, while yet to the heart they infold thee To be, never after, our William at sea! MY PORTRAIT. Well, thou art done, cold, speechless thing; Yet, in thy silence, with the power A crowd of feelings deep to bring Unknown until the present hour. But wherefore done, to life so true? Not human pride, nor vanity Could ask the artist hand to do, And show the world a deed like thee. And was it simple most, or kind To have upon the canvass cast My semblance, thus to leave behind My shadow, when myself am past? I know not if another eye Will ever weep beside thee, more Than mine does now, I know not why-- It never dropped such tears before. I view thee as a piece, composed To last, when I have passed from sight-- When time and earth to me are closed, To be in time and earthly light. Perhaps 't is this, that makes me weep-- The thought that I shall pass away, And those, who have thee then to keep, May glance at thee, and still be gay.