We saw her treasures cast away The rocks with pearls were sown, And strangely sad, the ruby's ray Flash'd out o'er fretted stone. And gold was strewn the wet sands o'er, Like ashes by a breeze And gorgeous robes-but oh! that shore Had sadder things than these! 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- 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 eyeHe had known little of her dread, Nought of her agony! 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. -His very heart athirst To gaze at Nature in her green array, Upon the ship's tall side he stands, possess'd Fair fields appear below, such as he left 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, And the gleam on its path as it steals away Their pearly leaves to the soft light spread, They haunt me !—I dream of that bright spring's flow, Be still, thou sea-bird, with thy clanging cry, Know ye my home, with the lulling sound With the streamy gold of the sun that shines. And the fire-fly's glance through the darkening shades, And the scent of the citron at eve's dim fall Speak!-have ye known, have ye felt them all? The heavy-rolling surge,―the rocking mast! Hush!-give my dream's deep music way, thou blast! 70 A VOYAGER'S DREAM OF LAND. Oh! the glad sounds of the joyous earth! The wings flitting home through the crimson glow The voice of the night-bird that sends a thrill To the heart of the leaves when the winds are still— They come with a breath from the fresh spring-time, The white foam dashes high-away, away, Shroud my green land no more, thou blinding spray! see the It is there!-down the mountains I sweep With the burden and glory of flowers that they wear, And the light pouring through them in tender gleams, -Hold me not, brethren, I go, I go, To the hills of my youth, where the myrtles blow, |