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Breathed from the ocean of eternity!
—And oh! without them, who could bear the storms
That fall in roaring blackness o'er the waters
Of agitated life: then hopes arise
All round our sinking souls, like those fair birds
O'er whose soft plumes the tempest hath no power,
Waving their snow-white wings amid the darkness,
And wiling us, with gentle motion, on
To some calm island! on whose silvery strand
Dropping at once, they fold their silent pinions,—
And, as we touch the shores of paradise,
In love and beauty walk around our feet!'
What were the world without this holy book,—
w. a B.
THE SAILOR'S DEATHBED.
Written on hearing of the Death of H. N. Dallas, Esq. on board of the Lady Melville, East Indiaman, in Sangor Bay.
At evening when the sun went down,
While yet the gleam of the shrinking day
Through our cabin lattice shone,
To gaze on the dying one.
The landward breezes had cooled the air,
And he lifted his languid head,
That light on the sea was shed;
Oh 1 recollection was busy then
In his young and faithful heart,
He turned from his home to part.
And a troubled joy seemed yet to flow
From the thought of his youth's glad hours;
And a smile passed over his wasted brow
And his burning hands o'er his eyelids passed,
To crush the tears that had sprung at last.
With feeble aim he raised his hand,
And pointed towards the west, Where the blue hills of his native land,
And the objects loved the best,
That mute request too well we knew,
That his loved of home should learn how true
That his mother might ponder with grateful joy
We spoke—as the sound of the evening gun
Came onward from the shore;
Who could hear that sound no more.
A. p. P.
THE HOME FEVER.
[From the Manuseript of a Volume of Original Poems which will shortly be published.}
We sat in a green verandah's shade
Where the verdant 'tye tye' twined
A harp for the cool sea wind,
And that wind, with its tale of flowers, had come
From the island groves away,
To the beach came wearily, :.
And the conch's far homecnll, the parrot's cry,
We sat alone in the trelliced bower,
And gazed o'er the darkening deep,
Came over our hearts like sleep,
And he—the friend at my side that sate, '* . .'
Was a boy whose path had gone '- *':
'Mid the fields and the flowers of joy—that Fate,
But alas! for the time when our hopes have wings,
And when memory to grief, like a Syren sines.
His home had been on the stormy shore '.'' •'. : - - '.•'. . . Of Albyn's mountain land, , ..• . i. ',"• .. '. ...'i'.:. I
His ear was tuned to the breaker's roar,
And he loved the bleak sea sand,.: i..'. .
And the torrent's din, and the howling breeze
Had all his soul's wild sympathies.