The topmast sail, it seems like some dim pinnacle
Cresting a shadowy tower amid the air;
While red and fitful gleams come from the binnacle,
The only light on board to guide us—where?
My friends, my absent friends!
Far from my native land, and far from you.
On one side of the ship, the moonbeam's shimmer
In luminous vibrations sweep the sea,
But where the shadow falls, a strange pale glimmer
Seems, glow-worm like, amid the waves to be.
All that the spirit keeps of thought and feeling,
Takes visionary hues from such an hour;
But while some phantasy is o'er me stealing,
I start—remembrance has a keener power.
My friends, my absent friends!
From the fair dream I start to think of you.
A dusk line in the moonlight I discover,
What all day long vainly I sought to catch;
Or is it but the varying clouds that hover
Thick in the air, to mock the eyes that watch?
No; well the sailor knows each speck, appearing,
Upon the tossing waves, the far-off strand;
To that dark line our eager ship is steering.
Her voyage done—to-morrow we shall land.
August 15.L. E. L.
These poems were sent to England for insertion in the "New Monthly," by the first vessel that sailed after her arrival at Cape Coast. It will be observed that the signature she affixed to each piece was, as usual, "L. E. L." It is natural to call her so even now, and thus, then, let her still be designated.
"To-morrow we shall land!" This was written on the 15th of August. The next day the desired landing was effected; and the best possible accommodation that could be obtained for the governor's lady (whose arrival was unexpected) was instantly provided. All necessary exertions were made at the castle to prepare it for the reception of its mistress; and everything being arranged, Mr. Maclean
