Yet parent of this loving pair,
Whom nothing could divide.

And ye who, rather than resign
Your matrimonial plan,

Were not afraid to plough the brine
In company with man ;

For whose lean country much disdain
We English often show,
Yet from a richer nothing gain
But wantonness and woe;

Be it your fortune, year by year,
The same resource to prove,-

And may ye, sometimes landing here,
Instruct us how to love!

COWPER.

THE STORMY-PETREL.

A THOUSAND miles from land are we,
Tossing about on the roaring sea;
From billow to bounding billow cast,
Like fleecy clouds on the stormy blast.

The sails are scattered abroad like weeds;
The strong masts shake like quivering reeds;
The mighty cables and iron chains,

The hull, which all earthly strength disdains,——
They strain and they crack; and hearts like stone
Their natural hard proud strength disown.

Up and down! up and down!

From the base of the wave to the billow's crown; And 'midst the flashing and feathery foam

The stormy-petrel finds a home ;

A home, if such a place may be,

For her who lives on the wide wide sea,

On the craggy ice, in the frozen air,
And only seeketh her rocky lair

To warm her young, and to teach them to spring At once on the waves on their stormy wing!

O'er the deep! o'er the deep!

Where the whale and the shark and the swordfish

sleep,

Outflying the blast and the driving rain,

The petrel telleth her tale in vain ;

For the mariner curseth the warning bird
Which bringeth him news of the storm unheard.
Ah! thus does the prophet of good or ill
Meet hate from the creatures he serveth still;
Yet he never falters-so, petrel, spring

Once more o'er the waves on thy stormy wing!
PROCTER.

LAND BIRD AT SEA.

BIRD of the land! what dost thou here,
Lone wanderer o'er a trackless bound,
With nought but frowning skies above,
And wild, unfathomed seas around?

Amid the shrouds, with panting breast
And drooping head, I see thee stand;
While pleased the hardy sailor climbs,
To clasp thee in his roughened hand.

Say, didst thou follow, league on league,
O'er pointed mast, thine only guide,
When but a fleeting speck it seemed
On the broad bosom of the tide ?

What news from native land and home,
Light carrier o'er the threatening tide;
Hast thou no folded scroll of love,
Pressed closely to thy panting side?

A bird of genius art thou? say!

With impulse high thy spirit stirred,

Some region unexplored to gain,

And soar above the common herd?

Burns in thy breast some kindling spark,
Like that which fired the glowing mind
Of the adventurous Genoese,

An undiscovered world to find?

Whate'er thou art, how sad thy fate,
With wasted strength the goal to spy,
Cling fleebly to the flapping sail,
And at a stranger's feet to die!

For thee thy widowed mate shall gaze
From leafy chamber curtained fair;
And wailing lays, at evening's close,
Lament thy loss in deep despair.

E'en thus o'er life's unresting tide,
Chilled by the billows' beating spray,
Some adventitious prize to gain,
Ambition's votaries urge their way!

Some eyrie on the Alpine cliff,

Some proud Mont Blanc they fain would climb; Snatch wreaths of laurel steeped in gore,

Or win from Fame a strain sublime.

They lose of home the heartfelt joys,
The charm of seasons as they roll,
And stake, amid their blinding course,
The priceless birthright of the soul.

Years fleet, and still they struggle on,
Their dim eye rolls with fading fire ;
Perchance the long-sought treasure grasp,
And in the victory expire.

SIGOURNEY.

WILLIAM TELL.

COME, list to me, and you shall hear
A tale of what befell

A famous man of Switzerland—
His name was William Tell.

Near Reuss's bank, from day to day,
His little flock he led ;

By prudent thrift, and hardy toil,
Content to earn his bread.

Nor was the hunter's craft unknown;
In Uri none was seen
To track the rock-frequenting herd
With eye so true and keen.

A little son was in his home,
A laughing fair-haired boy;

So strong of limb, so blithe of heart,
He made it ring with joy.

His father's sheep were all his friends, The lambs he called by name;

And when they frolicked in the fields, The child would share the game.

So peacefully their hours were spent That life had scarce a sorrow; They took the good of every day,

And hoped for more to-morrow.

But oft some shining April morn
Is darkened in an hour;

And blackest griefs o'er joyous homes,
Alas! unseen may lower.

Not yet on Switzerland had dawned

Her day of liberty;

The stranger's yoke was on her sons,
And pressed right heavily.

So one was sent, in luckless hour,
To rule in Austria's name;

A haughty man of savage mood-
and pride he came.

In pomp

One day, in wantonness of power,

66

He set his cap on high :

Bow down, ye slaves," the order ran;
"Who disobeys shall die!"

It chanced that William Tell that morn
Had left his cottage home,

And, with his little son in hand,
To Altorf town had come.

For oft the boy had eyed the spoil
His father homeward bore,

And prayed to join the hunting crew,
When they should roam for more.

And often on some merry night,

When wondrous feats were told,

He longed his father's bow to take,
And be a hunter bold.

So towards the chamois' haunts they went,-
One sang his childish songs,

The other brooded mournfully
O'er Uri's griefs and wrongs.

Tell saw the crowd, the lifted cap,
The tyrant's angry frown,-
And heralds shouted in his ear,

"Bow down, ye slaves, bow down!"

Stern Gesler marked the peasant's mien,
And watched to see him fall;