# Poems (Sigourney, 1834)/The Disobedient Son

THE DISOBEDIENT SON.
"Tempt not the sea,"—my father said,
 His locks were white with age,
And low he bowed his reverend head
 Upon the Bible's page.
"Tempt not the sea, my William dear,"
 I heard my mother sigh,
Saw on her furrowed cheek the tear,
 But rendered no reply.
That night,—it was the last, last time!
 From my sweet home I fled,
The sabbath-bell with evening chime
 Reproached my rebel tread.
One eye there was I shunned to meet,
 I could not bid farewell,
And yet its tender glance was sweet,
 How sweet, I dared not tell.
For ah! the sea, the sea had bound
 My heart in wizard chain,
My boyhood knew no tuneful sound
 Like the storm-stricken main.
And when bright fancies o'er my soul
 In dreams their sway would urge,
How proud the sapphire waves would roll
 Their white and crested surge.
And now that broad, deep sea, I crossed,
 A truant sailor-boy.
And when its wildest billows tossed,
 I laughed and leaped for joy.
Once when the midnight storm was loud,
 Half deafened by the sound,
Reckless I climbed the slippery shroud,
 And sank in gulfs profound.
On went the ship. With shouts of woe
 My gasping lips were dried,
High rolled the waves with crests of snow,
 And all my hope defied.
Methought even Earth's foundations rocked
 With warring ocean's strife,
While scornful winds like demons mocked
 My breathless toil for life.
So, there upon the broad expanse,
 Like a vile weed I clung,
While jeering breakers held their dance,
 And the mad tempest sung.
Up came the dawn. With pain I raved,
 Then like a child would weep.
Methought it walked like Christ, who saved
 The faithless on the deep.
Up rose the clear and glorious sun,
 Dark sea-birds clapped their wing,
And hovered o'er me one by one,
 As o'er a perished thing.
A ship! A ship!—her gallant crew
 With pride the waves did stem,
My shrieks of anguish wilder grew,
 What were those shrieks to them?
Wrecks passed me by. I floated still
 A cold and helpless form,
Impelled by Ocean's tyrant will,
 An atom 'mid the storm.
Strange visions racked my reeling brain,
 Unearthly forms did rise,
And upward through the glassy main
 I met my true-love's eyes.
Torn hair, methought, like rays of light,
 Fell round me on the flood,
I knew my father's locks so white—
 Who tinged those locks with blood? A cottage with its peaceful thatch
 And tapered casement glowed,
My shuddering hand essayed the latch,
 But burning lava flowed.
Close to my ear a monster sung,
 Green from the creeping slime,
And with his red, protruded tongue
 Hissed at me for my crime.
"Is there no grave of rest," I cried,
 "Down in the dark, deep sea?"
His hideous jaws he opened wide—
 "Where is the rest for thee?"
But lo! there came a spectre-boat,
 I hailed not—made no sign,
Yet o'er the wave I ceased to float,
 Nor felt the whelming brine.
I waked—how long had been my sleep!
 How dreamless my repose!
Strange faces seemed the watch to keep,
 They were my country's foes.
In foreign climes the yoke I bore,
 Stern Slavery's lot I knew,
Heaven heard: and toward my native shore,
 My parents' home, I drew.
Where was my hoary sire? They told
 How soon his race was run,
And how he sought his pillow cold,
 Lamenting for his son.
Shuddering I turned me toward the cot,
 Which in my crime I left,
There was my widowed mother's lot
 Of sight and joy bereft.
But who was bending o'er her bed,
 With voice like pity's dove? Those were the eyes whose glance I fled—
 That was my own true love.
The thraldom of my sin was broke,
 I knelt me by her side,
The priest the hallowed words hath spoke,
 And blest her as my bride.
My step, my blinded mother hails,
 I toil with spirit free,
And only in my fireside tales
 Recal the treacherous sea.