64 THE DYING BARD'S PROPHECY. Our voice in theirs through time shall swell— The bard hath gifts of prophecy from death. He dies-but yet the mountains stand, And this is vei Ancurin's land Winds! bear the spoiler one more tone of pride. * Aneurin, a celebrated ancient British bard. THE WRECK. ALL night the booming minute-gun Look'd o'er the tide-worn steep. A bark from India's coral strand, Before the raging blast, Had vail'd her topsails to the sand, And bow'd her noble mast. The queenly ship !-brave hearts had striven, And true ones died with her We saw her mighty cable riven, Like floating gossamer. We saw her proud flag struck that morn, A star once o'er the seas Her anchor gone, her deck uptorn, And sadder things than these. We saw her treasures cast away The rocks with pearls were sown, Flash'd out o'er fretted stone. And gorgeous robes-but oh! that shore We saw the strong man still and low, Yet by that rigid lip and brow, Not without strife he died. And near him on the sea-weed lay- But well our gushing hearts might say, For her pale arms a babe had prest, With such a wreathing grasp, Billows had dash'd o'er that fond breast, Yet not undone the clasp. Her very tresses had been flung To wrap the fair child's form, Where still their wet long streamers clung, All tangled by the storm. And beautiful 'midst that wild scene, Gleam'd up the boy's dead face, Like Slumber's, trustingly serene, In melancholy grace. Deep in her bosom lay his head, With half-shut violet eye He had known little of her dread, Oh! human Love, whose yearning heart, Through all things vainly true, So stamps upon thy mortal part Its passionate adieu Surely thou hast another lot, There is some home for thee, Where thou shalt rest, remembering not The moaning of the sea! A VOYAGER'S DREAM OF LAND. To gaze -His very heart athirst at Nature in her green array, Upon the ship's tall side he stands, possess'd Far distant, such as he would die to find He seeks them headlong, and is seen no more. Cowper. THE hollow dash of waves !-the ceaseless roar ! Silence, ye billows-vex my soul no more! There's a spring in the woods by my sunny home, Oh! the fall of that fountain is sweet to hear, |