Letitia Elizabeth Landon (L. E. L.) in Fisher's Drawing Room Scrap Book, 1835/The Coquette
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THE COQUETTE.
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THE COQUETTE.
She danced upon the waters,
Beneath the morning sun,
Of all old Ocean's daughters
The very fairest one.
An azure zone comprest her
Round her white and slender side,
For her gallant crew had drest her
Like a beauty and a bride.
She wore her trappings gaily,
As a lady ought to do,
And the waves which kissed her daily
Proud of their mistress grew.
They clung like lovers round her,
And bathed her airy feet;
With white foam wreaths they bound her,
To grace her, and to greet.
She cut the blue wave, scorning
Our dull and common land;
To the rosy airs of morning,
We saw her sails expand.
How graceful was their drooping
Ere the winds began to blow,
While the gay Coquette was stooping
To her clear green glass below!
How gallant was their sweeping,
While they swelled upon the air;
As the winds were in their keeping,
And they knew they were so fair!
A shower of spray before her,
A silvery wake behind,
A cloud of canvass o'er her,
She sprang before the wind.
She was so loved, the fairy,
Like a mistress or a child;
For she was so trim and airy,
So buoyant and so wild.
And though so young a rover,
She knew what life could be;
For she had wandered over
Full many a distant sea.
One night, 'twas in September,
A mist arose on high;
Not the oldest could remember
Such a dense and darkened sky:
And small dusk birds came hovering
The gloomy waters o'er;
The waves mocked their sweet sovereign,
And would obey no more.
There was no wind to move them,
So the sails were furled and fast,
And the gallant flag above them
Dropped down upon the mast.
All was still as if death's shadow
Were resting on the grave;
And the sea, like some dark meadow,
Had not one rippling wave:
When the sky was rent asunder
With a flood of crimson light,
And one single burst of thunder
Aroused the silent night.
'Twas the signal for their waking!
The angry winds arose,
Like giant captives breaking
The chain of forced repose.
Yet bravely did she greet them,
Those jarring winds and waves;
Ready with scorn to meet them,
They who had been her slaves.
She faced the angry heaven,
Our bold and fair Coquette;
Her graceful sides are riven,
But she will brave it yet.
Like old oak of the forest,
Down comes the thundering mast;
Her need is at the sorest,
She shudders in the blast.
Hark to that low quick gushing!
The hold has sprung a leak;
On their prey the waves are rushing,
The valiant one grows weak.
One cry, and all is quiet,
There is not sight nor sound;
Save the fierce gale at its riot,
And the angry waters round.
The morn may come with weeping,
And the storm may cease to blow;
But the fair Coquette is sleeping
A thousand fathoms low.