The Massachusetts spy, and Worcester County advertiser. [volume] ([Worcester, Mass.]) 1825-1831, 1828-03-26
POETRY.
From tic Boston Statesman

From the Boston Statesman.
There is tradition among the natives of n,
island IN the Pacific Ocean, that a crew of whit
men were thrown upon their shores, and tina
some CT them lived to great age have en-
u eaVoIed to describe what | supposed to hay,
been the feelings of the last survivor of thos,
unfortunate men.
j am the last am the last
lone, forgotten wand'rer now:
Yon tree that groans to every blast.
With bending trunk and leafess bough,
Alone where once forest threw
Itsgorgeous colorings to the day,
Surviving all that round it grew,
Is but the type of my decay.
| am the last am the last
My kindred and my race are gone;
These old and wither'd hands have cast
The earth upon them, one by one.
lovd them al-and have wept
Full sadly at their memory's shrine;
But years have pass'd-long years, since crept
tear adown this cheek ofmine.
All once wept-my heart was not
so desolate, SO scare as now;
And tears would flow, till had sought
In vain for one familiar brow:
All, all, were gone-the hunter stood
Alone before me, dark and grim;
' My heart had not his savage mood,
1t had no fellowship with him.
His gloomy spirit ne'er had known
The linkings of affections chain:
lie ours d my grief, he mock'd my groan,
III madness rush'd on heart and brain.
could not weep-I could not weep
The fountain of my heart was dry
Twas sear'd, when in his last long sleep
saw my latest eomrade lie.
sat beside the sufferers bed
- AT dead of night-the torch was dim,
And blended with the moonbeams, shed
faint and ghastly light on him.
watch'd the pale and changeful glow
Along his moveless features fit,
And wipd the damps from off his brow,
Where death his fearful seal had set.
The grey morn broke-and yet l gaz'd
On the wan features of the dead
The morning pass'd, and noontide blazd
Its searching radiance round my she'd
weary day and yet kept
MY watchings where the sleeper lay,
Hill night, with wing of darkness, swept
The lingering western light away.
All why should memory coniure up
Those visions of departed things?
A thousand times I've drain'd that cup
OF wild and dark rememberings.
That dreary night, his grave made
Yon lone and blighted tree beneath;
1smooth'd the turf above his head,
And left him to the calm of death.
My native land my fathers shore
Oh none to thee our fates shall tell,
For memory wakens there no more
Our last and sorrowful farewell.
The. bands psa.Rlssniajp G-iefeel~eia. taH1
And all who wav'd the long adieu
Are silent as the graves they fill.
Yes, they are gone-but tears were shed
When the cold earth was DER them press'd,
And love and friendship softly tread
Around their hallow'd place of rest
But who, when natures strife is past,
Shall watch beside my lonely bed;
Shall close my beamless eyes, and cast
Earths mantle DER my sleeping head'
Father, and God murmur not
Against thy high and holy will;
Though lonely, by the world forgot,
Thine eye is on thy creature still
And though no earthly friend be nigh,
When sinks the light which now is dim,
Thy presence shall the void supply,
And smooth the bed Of death for him.
Sd mo- 1928. w