The soul confess emotions but concealed
Pure, glowing, deep, though lingeringly revealed;
That true camelion which imbibes the tone
Of every passion-hue she pauses on!
O, 'tis the cheek that's false-so subtly taught
It takes not of its colour from the thought;
But like volcanic mountains veiled in snow,
Hides the heart's lava, while it works below!
And there were two who loved, but never told
Their love to one another: years had rolled
Since Passion touched them with his purple wing,
Though still their youth was in its blossoming.
Lofty of soul, as riches were denied,
He deemed it mean to woo a wealthy bride;
And (for her tears were secret) coldly she
Wreathed her pale brow in maiden dignity ;
Yet each had caught the other's eye reposing,
And, far as looks disclose, the truth disclosing;
But when they met, pride checked the soul's warm sigh,
And froze the melting spirit of the eye:-
A pride in vulgar hearts that never shone.
And thus they loved, and silently loved on;
But this was not a moment when the head
Could trifle with the heart! The cloud that spread
Its chilling veil between them, now had past—
Too long awaking-but they woke at last!
He rushed where clung the fainting fair one-sought
To soothe with hopes he felt not, cherished not;
And while in passionate support he prest,
She raised her eyes then swiftly on his breast
Hid her blanched cheek-as if resigned to share
The worst with him;-nay, die contented there!
That silent act was fondly eloquent;
And to the youth's deep soul, like lightning, sent
A gleam of rapture-exquisite yet brief,
As his (poor wretch) that in the grave of grief
Feels Fortune's sun burst on him, and looks up
With hope to heaven-forgetful of the cup,
The deadly cup his shivering hand yet strained—
A hot heart-pang reminds him—it is drained!
Away with words! for when had true love ever
A happy star to bless it ?-Never, never!
And oh, the brightest after-smile of Fate
Is but a sad reprieve, which comes too late!
The riot shout pealed on;-but deep distress
Had sunk all else in utter hopelessness !
One marked the strife of frenzy and despair—
The most concerned, and yet the calmest there;
In bitterness of soul beheld his crew
He should have known them, and he thought he knew ;
The blood-hound on the leash may fawn, obey—
He'll tear thee, shouldest thou cross him at his prey!
One only trust survives a doubtful one—
But O, how cherished, every other gone!
"While hold our cables, fear not❞—As he spoke
A sea burst o'er them, and their cables broke!
Then like a lion bounding from the toil,
The ship shot through the billow's black recoil;
Urged by the howling blast-all guidance gone—
They shuddering felt her reeling, rushing on—
Nor dared to question where; nor dared to cast
One asking look-for that might be their last!
What frowns so steep in front a cliff? a rock?
The groaning vessel staggers in the shock!
The last shriek rings.
Hark! whence that voice they hear
Loud o'er the rushing waters-loud and near?
Alas! they dream!—'tis but the ocean roar !—
Oh no! it echoes from the swarming shore!
Kind Heaven, thy hand was there. With swelling bound
The vast waves heaved the giant hull aground;
And, ebbing with the turning tide, became,
Like dying monsters, impotent and tame;
Wedged in the sand their chafing can no more
Than lave her sides, and deaden with their roar
The clamorous burst of joy. But some there were
Whose joy was voiceless as their late despair—
Whose heaven-ward eyes, clasped hands, and streaming cheeks,
Did speak a language which the lip ne'er speaks!
O, he were heartless, in that passionate hour,
Who could not feel that weakness hath its power,
When gentle woman, sobbing and subdued,
Breathed forth her vow of holy gratitude,
Warm as the contrite Mary's, when-forgiven-
An angel smiled, recording it in heaven!
THE MORNING AFTER THE STORM.
O heavens! is't possible a young maid's wits
Should be as mortal as an old man's life?
Nature is fine in love: and where 'tis fine,
It sends some precious instance of itself
After the thing it loves.
"TIs midnight. Eyeless Darkness, like a blind
And haggard witch, with power to loose and bind
The spirits of the elements at will,
Draws her foul cloak across the stars, until
Those Demons she invoked to vex the waves
Have dived and hid them in their ocean-caves :
And they are fled;-though still the mighty heart
Of Nature throbs. And now that hag doth start
(Her swarth cheek turning pale in bitter spite)
For through her brow she feels the cold moonlight
Shoot like a pain, as on a western hill
The setting planet of the night stood still,
Just parted from a cloud. No more the blast
Wailed, like a naked spirit rushing past,
As though it sought a resting place in vain.-
The storm is lulled; and yet it is a pain
To tell what wreck and ruin strewed the shore !—
Each wave its freight of death or damage bore.
Here, stained and torn, a royal flag was cast;
There lay a broken helm, a shattered mast;
And oh, the saddest relic of the storm,
Yon wave conveys a seaman's lifeless form!
'Tis morn-the waning mists, with shadowy sweep,
Draw their cold curtains slowly from the deep.
'Tis morn-but gladness comes not with her ray!
The bright and breathing scene of yesterday
Is gone, as if that swift consuming wing
Had brushed the deep which smote Assyria's King,
And left his Host, like sear leaves, withering!
The sea swells full, but smooth-to Passion's thrill,
Though spent her tempest, heaves the young heart still;
A bleakness slumbers o'er it-here and there
Some desolate hull, forsaken in despair,
Drives idly, like a friendless outcast thing
Which still survives the world's abandoning.
Where are her sails her serried tiers' display-
Her helm-her wide flag's emblemed blazonry?
Her crew of fiery spirits,-where are they?
Far scattered groups, dejected, hurried, tread
The beach in silence, where the shipwrecked dead
Lie stiff and strained. Among them (humbling thought!) They seek their friends—yet shrink from what they sought, As on some corse the eye, recoiling, fell—
Though livid, swoll'n-but recognized too well!
Apart, disturbed in spirit, breathless, pale—
Her unbound tresses floating on the gale-
A Maiden hastened on ;-across her way,
As though he slept, a lifeless sailor lay.
She paused, and gazed a moment—shuddered, sank
Beside that victim on the wave-washed bank-
Bent shivering lips to press his haggard cheek,
But started backward with a loathing shriek!
Fond wretch! thy half-averted eyes discover
The cold and bloodless aspect of thy Lover!
Their tale is brief. The youth was one of those
Who spurned the thought of safety or repose
Whilst Peril stalks the deep: where'er displayed,
The flag which sues for succour has their aid—
The foeman's or the friend's ;-no pausing then
To question who implore them-they are men!
A noble race and, though unfamed, unknown,
A race that England should be proud to own!
He, with a few as generously brave,
Had heard the death-wail rising from the wave,
And, in an ill-starred moment, sought to save.
The lifeboat reached the foundering ship-her crew
With greedy haste secured the rope it threw,
And in the wild avidity for life,
Rushed reeling in. Alas! that fatal strife
But sealed their doom! the flashing billows roar Above their heads-one pang-they strove no more!
He did not love unloved; for she who prest
That clay-cold hand so madly to her breast,
Believ'd his vows; and but for Fortune's scorn
Young Love had smiled on this their bridal morn!
But oh, his years are few who hath not felt
That, while we grasp, the rainbow bliss will melt;
That hopes, like clouds which gleam across the moon,
Soon pass away, and lose their light as soon!
The weltering mass she folds, but yesternight
Heaved warm with life-his rayless eye was bright:
And she whose cheek the rose of rapture spread,
Raves now a maniac-widow'd, yet unwed,-
And reckless wanderings take the place of woe!-
She fancies joys that glow not, nor can glow;
Breathes in a visionary world, and weaves
A web of bliss-scarce falser than deceives
The reasoning heart; oft sings and weeps; and now
Entwines a sea-weed garland for her brow,
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