THE LOSS OF THE ROEBUCK. HOW oft by the lamp of the pale waning moon Would Kitty steal out from the eye of the town; On the beach as she stood, when the wild waves would roll, Her eye shed a torrent just fresh from the soul; And, as o'er the ocean the billows would stray, Her sighs follow after, as moaning as they. I saw, as the ship to the harbour drew near, Hope redden her cheek — then it blanch'd with chill fear; She wish'd to inquire of the whispering crew If they'd spoke with the Roebuck, or aught of her knew; For long in conjecture her fate had been toss'd, Nor knew we for certain the Roebuck was lost. I pitied her feelings, and saw what she'd ask, For Innocence ever looks through a thin mask; I stepp'd up to Jack Oakum — his sad head he shook, And cast on sweet Kitty a side-glancing look: "The Roebuck has founder'd — the crew are no more, — Nor again shall Jack Bowling be welcom'd on shore!" Sweet Kitty, suspecting, laid hold of my arm: "O tell me," she cried, "for my soul's in alarm; Is she lost?" — I said nothing; whilst Jack gave a sigh, Then down dropp'd the curtain that hung o'er her eye; Fleeting life for a moment seem'd willing to stay; Just flutter'd, and then fled for ever away. So droops the pale lily surcharg'd with a shower, — Sunk down as with sorrow so dies the sweet flower; No sunbeam returning, no spring ever gay, Can give back the soft breath once wafted away; The eye-star once set never rises again, Nor pilots one vessel more over the main.