Elinor.

(Time, Morning. Scene, the Shore.[1])     Once more to daily toil--once more to wear     The weeds of infamy--from every joy     The heart can feel excluded, I arise     Worn out and faint with unremitting woe;     And once again with wearied steps I trace     The hollow-sounding shore. The swelling waves     Gleam to the morning sun, and dazzle o'er     With many a splendid hue the breezy strand.     Oh there was once a time when ELINOR     Gazed on thy opening beam with joyous eye     Undimm'd by guilt and grief! when her full soul     Felt thy mild radiance, and the rising day     Waked but to pleasure! on thy sea-girt verge     Oft England! have my evening steps stole on,     Oft have mine eyes surveyed the blue expanse,     And mark'd the wild wind swell the ruffled surge,     And seen the upheaved billows bosomed rage     Rush on the rock; and then my timid soul     Shrunk at the perils of the boundless deep,     And heaved a sigh for suffering mariners.     Ah! little deeming I myself was doom'd.     To tempt the perils of the boundless deep,     An Outcast--unbeloved and unbewail'd.     Why stern Remembrance! must thine iron hand     Harrow my soul? why calls thy cruel power     The fields of England to my exil'd eyes,     The joys which once were mine? even now I see     The lowly lovely dwelling! even now     Behold the woodbine clasping its white walls     And hear the fearless red-breasts chirp around     To ask their morning meal:--for I was wont     With friendly band to give their morning meal,     Was wont to love their song, when lingering morn     Streak'd o'er the chilly landskip the dim light,     And thro' the open'd lattice hung my head     To view the snow-drop's bud: and thence at eve     When mildly fading sunk the summer sun,     Oft have I loved to mark the rook's slow course     And hear his hollow croak, what time he sought     The church-yard elm, whose wide-embowering boughs     Full foliaged, half conceal'd the house of God.     There, my dead father! often have I heard     Thy hallowed voice explain the wonderous works     Of Heaven to sinful man. Ah! little deem'd     Thy virtuous bosom, that thy shameless child     So soon should spurn the lesson! sink the slave     Of Vice and Infamy! the hireling prey     Of brutal appetite! at length worn out     With famine, and the avenging scourge of guilt,     Should dare dishonesty--yet dread to die!         Welcome ye savage lands, ye barbarous climes,     Where angry England sends her outcast sons--     I hail your joyless shores! my weary bark     Long tempest-tost on Life's inclement sea,     Here hails her haven! welcomes the drear scene,     The marshy plain, the briar-entangled wood,     And all the perils of a world unknown.     For Elinor has nothing new to fear     From fickle Fortune! all her rankling shafts     Barb'd with disgrace, and venom'd with disease.     Have pierced my bosom, and the dart of death     Has lost its terrors to a wretch like me.         Welcome ye marshy heaths! ye pathless woods,     Where the rude native rests his wearied frame     Beneath the sheltering shade; where, when the storm,     As rough and bleak it rolls along the sky,     Benumbs his naked limbs, he flies to seek     The dripping shelter. Welcome ye wild plains     Unbroken by the plough, undelv'd by hand     Of patient rustic; where for lowing herds,     And for the music of the bleating flocks,     Alone is heard the kangaroo's sad note     Deepening in distance. Welcome ye rude climes,     The realm of Nature! for as yet unknown     The crimes and comforts of luxurious life,     Nature benignly gives to all enough,     Denies to all a superfluity,     What tho' the garb of infamy I wear,     Tho' day by day along the echoing beach     I cull the wave-worn shells, yet day by day     I earn in honesty my frugal food,     And lay me down at night to calm repose.     No more condemn'd the mercenary tool     Of brutal lust, while heaves the indignant heart     With Virtue's stiffled sigh, to fold my arms     Round the rank felon, and for daily bread     To hug contagion to my poison'd breast;     On these wild shores Repentance' saviour hand     Shall probe my secret soul, shall cleanse its wounds     And fit the faithful penitent for Heaven.