<\/p>\n
‘I shall be, I think, forgiven, if I include in this volume <\/em>(Ecclesia, 1840), a composition suggested by a family relique ; because, however inferior the verses may be, they record a name and an event which will long be matter of Cornish pride. The following inscription, on a silver goblet in my possession, will speak for itself : \u2014<\/em><\/p>\n ” This cup is presented to Wrey I’ans, Esquire, by Edward and Robert Were Fox, of Wadebridge, on behalf of the proprietors of the cargo of the St. Anna St. Joseph, Captain Antony de Fonseca Rosa, wrecked at Bude, the 7th of August, 1790, for his care in saving the same, and particular attention to the unfortunate crew.”‘<\/em><\/p>\n <\/p>\n ADIEU ! Adieu ! my own dear shore, Adieu ! tall Chili’s mountains bold, The setting sun sinks fast and deep Hush ! Mariner, that heedless word : Unseen the forms that fill the sky, ” Nine awful days \u2014 nine hopeless nights De Rosa, no ! not these thine hills, Thou seest dark Cornwall’s rifted shore, And mark yon bird of sable wing. And still, when loudliest howls the storm, ” Pilot ! they say when tempests rave Is it the mermaid, cold and pale, Away ! away ! before the wind ! Away ! away ! what shall avail Her race is run \u2014 deep in that sand High honour to his heart and name ! Thenceforth, when voice and bowl went round, And still when breathes the seaman’s vow, *\u00a0 *\u00a0 *\u00a0 *\u00a0 *<\/p>\n ‘In his own copy of Ecclesia<\/em>, Hawker has written “By C. E. H.” (his first wife) against this poem. In another copy of the book is a pencil note in his hand as follows : ” Written by Mrs. Hawker, except the three last stanzas, which are mine. \u2014 R. S. H.”‘<\/p>\n NOTE: This version of the poem comes from\u00a0Cornish Ballads & Other Poems<\/em> by R. S. Hawker, edited by C. E. Byles. Byles’ own footnote regarding the Cornish chough apears on page 17 and reads as follows: “This wild bird chiefly haunts the coasts of Devon and Cornwall. The common people believe that the soul of King Arthur inhabits one of these birds, and no entreaty or bribe would induce an old Tintagel quarry-man to kill me one.”<\/p>\n
\nThe Isles, where angry spirits dwell ;
\nDe Rosa views thy coast no more \u2014
\nYe winds ! is this his last farewell ?<\/p>\n
\nParana’s sands and rich Peru :
\nTo deep Potosi’s mines of gold ;
\nTo Empelada’s shores adieu !<\/p>\n
\nBeneath thy hot and waveless seas :
\n” Oh ! for full sails this calm to sweep !
\nThe Petrel’s wing to cleave the breeze ! ”<\/p>\n
\nThe clouds \u2014 the winds \u2014 that voice obey :
\nLo ! at thy wish the fatal bird
\nSkims o’er the wave at break of day !<\/p>\n
\nTo watch the seaman’s reckless hour :
\nThy sin hath brought the Avenger nigh :
\nThe spirit of the storm hath power.<\/p>\n
\nHave seen us tossed from strand to strand :
\nPilot, are these Morena’s heights ?
\nPilot, is this my native land ? ”<\/p>\n
\nNor they Morena’s mountains blue :
\nNo groves of cork, no shining rills,
\nNor vine nor olive meet thy view.<\/p>\n
\nOld Arthur’s stern and rugged keep :
\nThere, where proud billows dash and roar.
\nHis haughty turret guards the deep.<\/p>\n
\nTalons and beak all red with blood :
\nThe spirit of the long-lost king
\nPass’d in that shape from Camlan’s flood !<\/p>\n
\nAnd darkliest lowers his native sky,
\nThe king’s fierce soul is in that form :
\nThe warrior’s spirit threatens nigh!<\/p>\n
\nDark Cornwall’s sons will haunt the main.
\nWatch the wild wreck, yet not to save :
\nOh ! for Parana’s sands again ! ”<\/p>\n
\nThat glides within yon cloister’d cave ?
\nHark ! ’tis her wild and broken wail
\nAbove the shipwrecked seaman’s grave !<\/p>\n
\nFury and wrath are on the blast :
\nTintagel’s keep, far, far behind :
\nTremoutha’s bay is won and past.<\/p>\n
\nIn the fierce hands of such a sea ?
\nShe bends \u2014 she quivers to the gale \u2014
\nAnd Bude’s dark rocks are on the lee !<\/p>\n
\nShe yields her to the conquering wave –
\nAnd Cornwall’s sons\u2014 they line the strand-
\nRush they for plunder ? No ! to save !<\/p>\n
\nWho stood that day with sheltering form,
\nTo give these shores a gentler fame,
\nTo soothe the anguish of the storm !<\/p>\n
\nDe Rosa’s pledge was true and loud \u2014
\n” To every man on Cornish ground ! ”
\nAnd every Cornish heart was proud.<\/p>\n
\nThis thought will mingle with his fear \u2014
\nWould that we saw one absent brow !
\nWould that the I’ans voice were here !<\/p>\n