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About Praenapa Butrthong
'Tis night--all around me the chill blast is howling; The harsh--screaming sea--bird now scar'd hovers nigh; The voice of great Heav'n in loud thunder is rolling: Alas! nor for shelter, nor rest can I fly! I mark by the lightning's blue gleam the wreck floating, Of her that long triumph'd o'er each threat'ning wave; I, alone, to this rock, 'scap'd the merciless ocean, While comrades, more blest, found a watery grave!
More blest! 'Tis not so! If unpitied I perish, To me, some few hours for reflection are giv'n, A hope for the grey dawn of morning I'll cherish; We ne'er should arraign the decrees of Just Hfav'n! How still'd seems the tempest!--Yon beauteous moon rising, I'll gaze on, awhile, my sunk spirits to cheer:-- That sound! was it human?--again hark!--'tis coming! Ah me!--the wild half--famish'd wolf I but hear!
My father, grown old!--my affectionate mother! You'll look for poor Henry, but long watch in vain; My sister! how lovely!--my helpless young brother! Ne'er, ne'er will you share my caresses again! With you, the long day will be spent in deep mourning; The bones of the sea--boy must bleach on the shore! Now dim grows my sight!--Oh! this fever'd brain's burning! I come, welcome Death!--All my sorrows are o'er!