Poems in Two Volumes, Volume 1: The Sailor's Mother

The Sailor's Mother

    One morning (raw it was and wet,
    A foggy day in winter time)
    A Woman in the road I met,
    Not old, though something past her prime:
    Majestic in her person, tall and straight;
  And like a Roman matron's was her mien and gait.
    The ancient Spirit is not dead;
    Old times, thought I, are breathing there;
    Proud was I that my country bred
    Such strength, a dignity so fair:                      10
    She begg'd an alms, like one in poor estate;
  I look'd at her again, nor did my pride abate.
    When from these lofty thoughts I woke,
    With the first word I had to spare
    I said to her, "Beneath your Cloak
    What's that which on your arm you bear?"
    She answer'd soon as she the question heard,
  "A simple burthen, Sir, a little Singing-bird."
    And, thus continuing, she said,
    "I had a Son, who many a day                           20
    Sail'd on the seas; but he is dead;
    In Denmark he was cast away;
    And I have been as far as Hull, to see
  What clothes he might have left, or other property."
    "The Bird and Cage they both were his;
    'Twas my Son's Bird; and neat and trim
    He kept it: many voyages
    This Singing-bird hath gone with him;
    When last he sail'd he left the Bird behind;
  As it might be, perhaps, from bodings of his mind."      30
    "He to a Fellow-lodger's care
    Had left it, to be watch'd and fed,
    Till he came back again; and there
    I found it when my Son was dead;
    And now, God help me for my little wit!
  I trail it with me, Sir! he took so much delight in it."

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