- My 700 Pounds Sterling, Equal To 840 Pounds Currency, Would
Have Given Me 60 Pounds Per Annum, Which, With My Own Labour, Would
Have Kept My Family Tolerably Well, Have Helped To Pay Servants,
And Have Saved Us All Much Privation And Harassing Anxiety.
Having thus supplied the painful details of a transaction, a
knowledge of which was necessary to explain many circumstances in
our situation, otherwise unintelligible, I shall proceed with my
narrative.
The government did not carry out its intention with respect to
half-pay officers in the colonies; but many officers, like myself,
had already sold their commissions, under the apprehension of being
compelled to accept this hard alternative. I was suddenly thrown
on my own resources, to support a helpless and increasing family,
without any regular income. I had this consolation, however, under
my misfortune, that I had acted from the best motives, and without
the most remote idea that I was risking the comfort and happiness
of those depending upon me. I found very soon, that I had been too
precipitate, as people often are in extraordinary positions; though,
had the result been more fortunate, most people would have commended
my prudence and foresight. We determined, however, to bear up
manfully against our ill-fortune, and trust to that Providence which
never deserts those who do not forget their own duties in trying
circumstances.
It is curious how, on such occasions, some stray stanzas which hang
about the outskirts of the memory, will suddenly come to our aid.
Thus, I often caught myself humming over some of the verses of that
excellent moral song "The Pilot," and repeating, with a peculiar
emphasis, the concluding lines of each stanza,
"Fear not! but trust in Providence,
Wherever thou may'st be."
Such songs do good; and a peculiar blessing seems to attend every
composition, in prose or verse, which inculcates good moral
sentiments, or tends to strengthen our virtuous resolutions. This
fine song, I feel assured, will live embalmed in the memory of
mankind long after the sickly, affected, and unnatural ditties of
its author have gone to their merited oblivion. Sometimes, however,
in spite of my good resolutions, when left alone, the dark clouds of
despondency would close around me, and I could not help contrasting
the happy past in our life with my gloomy anticipations of the
future. Sleep, which should bring comfort and refreshment, often
only aggravated my painful regrets, by recalling scenes which had
nearly escaped my waking memory. In such a mood the following verses
were written: -
OH, LET ME SLEEP!
Oh, let me sleep! nor wake to sadness
The heart that, sleeping, dreams of gladness;
For sleep is death, without the pain -
Then wake me not to life again.
Oh, let me sleep! nor break the spell
That soothes the captive in his cell;
That bursts his chains, and sets him free,
To revel in his liberty.
Loved scenes, array'd in tenderest hue,
Now rise in beauty to my view;
And long-lost friends around me stand,
Or, smiling, grasp my willing hand.
Again I seek my island home;
Along the silent bays I roam,
Or, seated on the rocky shore,
I hear the angry surges roar.
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