Oh! never may the moon again disclose me such a sight
As met my gaze, when first I look’d, on that accursed night! 
I’ve seen a thousand horrid shapes begot of fierce extremes
Of fever; and most frightful things have haunted in my dreams—­
Hyenas—­cats—­blood-loving bats—­and apes with hateful stare,—­
Pernicious snakes, and shaggy bulls—­the lion, and she-bear—­
Strong enemies, with Judas looks, of treachery and spite—­
Detested features, hardly dimm’d and banish’d by the light! 
Pale-sheeted ghosts, with gory locks, upstarting from their tombs—­
All phantasies and images that flit in midnight glooms—­
Hags, goblins, demons, lemures, have made me all aghast,—­
But nothing like that GRIMLY ONE who stood beside the mast!

His cheek was black—­his brow was black—­his eyes and hair as dark;
His hand was black, and where it touch’d, it left a sable mark;
His throat was black, his vest the same, and when I look’d beneath,
His breast was black—­all, all, was black, except his grinning teeth. 
His sooty crew were like in hue, as black as Afric slaves! 
Oh, horror! e’en the ship was black that plough’d the inky waves!

“Alas!” I cried, “for love of truth and blessed mercy’s sake,
Where am I? in what dreadful ship? upon what dreadful lake?”
“What shape is that, so very grim, and black as any coal? 
It is Mahound, the Evil One, and he has gain’d my soul! 
Oh, mother dear! my tender nurse! dear meadows that beguil’d
My happy days, when I was yet a little sinless child,—­
My mother dear—­my native fields, I never more shall see: 
I’m sailing in the Devil’s Ship, upon the Devil’s Sea!”

Loud laugh’d that SABLE MARINER, and loudly in return
His sooty crew sent forth a laugh that rang from stem to stern—­
A dozen pair of grimly cheeks were crumpled on the nonce—­
As many sets of grinning teeth came shining out at once: 
A dozen gloomy shapes at once enjoy’d the merry fit,
With shriek and yell, and oaths as well, like Demons of the Pit. 
They crow’d their fill, and then the Chief made answer for the whole;—­
“Our skins,” said he, “are black, ye see, because we carry coal;
You’ll find your mother sure enough, and see your native fields—­
For this here ship has pick’d you up—­the Mary Ann of Shields!”

TIM TURPIN.

A PATHETIC BALLAD.

Tim Turpin he was gravel blind,
  And ne’er had seen the skies: 
For Mature, when his head was made,
  Forgot to dot his eyes.

So, like a Christmas pedagogue,
  Poor Tim was forc’d to do—­
Look out for pupils, for he had
  A vacancy for two.

There’s some have specs to help their sight
  Of objects dim and small: 
But Tim had specks within his eyes,
  And could not see at all.

Now Tim he woo’d a servant-maid,
  And took her to his arms;
For he, like Pyramus, had cast
  A wall-eye on her charms.