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136

THE BIRD AT SEA.

He died; but memory's wizard power,
With his ghostly train had come,
To the sad heart's ruins at that last hour,
And he murmured Home, Home, Home—
And his spirit fled with its happy dream,
Like a bird in the track of a bright sunbeam.

Oh, talk of spring to the trampled flower,
Of light to the fallen star,

Of glory to those who in danger's hour
Lie cold on the fields of war;

But ye

mock the exile's heart when you tell Of aught but the home where it pines to dwell.

THE BIRD AT SEA.

Bird of the greenwood!

Oh, why art thou here?
Leaves dance not o'er thee,

Flowers bloom not near.

All the sweet waters

Far hence are at play,
Bird of the greenwood!

Away, away!

THE BIRD AT SEA.

Where the mast quivers

Thy place will not be, As midst the waving

Of wild rose and tree;

How shouldst thou battle

With storm and with spray?

Bird of the greenwood!

Away, away!

Or art thou seeking

Some brighter land,

Where by the south wind

Vine leaves are fanned?

Midst the wild billows

Why then delay ? Bird of the greenwood ! Away, away!

"Chide not my lingering

Where storms are dark;

A hand that hath nursed me
Is in the bark;

A heart that hath cherished

Through winter's long daySo I turn from the greenwood, Away, away!"

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138

LIFE AND DEATH.

LIFE.

What is Life? 'tis an elegant shell
Thrown up by eternity's flow;

On time's banks and quicksands to dwell,
And a moment its loveliness show:
But returned to its element grand

Is the billow that brought it ashore-
See! another is washing the strand,
And the elegant shell is no more.

DEATH.

What is Death? 'tis a delicate cloud
Concealing a beautiful sky;
'Tis mournfully clad in a shroud,

And we view it with sorrowful eye;
But the zephyr that wafted it near
Will sleep in the silence of even;
Then the delicate cloud will appear
Like death, as the portal of Heaven.

ANON.

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["Where shall Wisdom be found? and where is the place of understanding? the depth saith it is not in me; and the sea saith it is not with me." Job xxviii. 12, 14.]

Where shall wisdom's light be found?

Circled by yon starry bound?

Hidden by the rolling main,

Buried 'neath the pathless plain,

Tenanting the grove's recess,

Or the desert wilderness;

Heaven hath heard, but answers not,

Earth reveals no chosen spot;

Voiceless stands the crested hill,

Rock and forest roof are still,
Silent smile the cloudless skies,
And the unfathomed deep replies,
"Child of wavering doubt and fear,
Seek thou not its presence here."

Dwells it in the senseless crowd?
With the honor'd or the proud?
Where the clustering wreaths conceal
Glory's red and wasting steel?
By the monarch's gem-bright throne?
Or the dwelling dark and lone,

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Whence the sage's torch appears,
O'er the page of buried years?
Grief, alas! is linked with power ;-
Honour, but a summer flower;

Fame, a meteor ;-doubly cursed

He whom dreams of wealth has nursed.

And on learning's treasures bent,
Who hath hoped or found content?
Thou, whose uninstructed breast,
Baffled in its lengthen'd quest,
Deems its labour lost and vain,
Yet renew thy search again—
Where the eye of pity weeps,
And the sway of passion sleeps,
And the lamp of faith is burning,
And the ray of hope returning,
And the "still small voice" within,
Whispers not of wrath or sin,
Resting with the righteous dead,
Beaming o'er the drooping head;
Comforting the lowly mind,

Shines the treasure ;-seek and find.

L. F. H.

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