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I hear, from clouds of fluid gold,
Their silken sails on ocean's breast.
From moonlight decks the golden string
I steal the soft voice of the gale,
That pensive Beauty weeps to hear; While the foldings of her snowy veil
Are moisten'd with a falling tear.
She lifts Devotion's beaming eye,
Rapt with the music of the main, Till the breathing of a mortal's sigh
Recalls her to the world again.
When the day-star rushes from on high,
The liquid lustre of the sea.
My wild harp charms the list'ning night
From golden sands I love to view
The cold moon of the northern pole, When round her throne of cloudless blue The circling waves of ether roll.
She wanders through the length'ning night, And glitters on my crystal dome,
Whose pearly towers in fluid light
They shiver as the tempests rave
Round shudd'ring Nature's gelid form, While riding on the mountain wave,
I combat Heav'n's unyielding storm.
Ah! when the frozen canvass gleams
'Mid icy mountains far away, The sick'ning sun's unwarming beams Waste on the surge their languid day.
When the rocking keels the waters brave,
I weep to think, that from the wave
When the cry of death is on the deep,
The luckless wand'rers of the main.
When their life-blood o'er the ocean swims,
I hide the victims' stiffen'd limbs
In the darkness of the oozy wave.
I bear to my unfathom'd cell
The waving sea-flowers' deathless bloom,
Round many a proud unshaken height,
That sports in boundless liberty.
While from my streaming locks I fling
In the summer of Atlantic seas.
They spread their robes of silv'ry hue
O'er the pale moon of the placid even, When, wrapt in clouds of softest blue, She slumbers at the gates of heaven.
THE DYING SOLDIER.
The following Verses were written on an incident which happened during the last campaign in Egypt.
THE tumult of battle had ceas'd-high in air
When a veteran was seen, by the light of his lamp,
Though dauntless in war, at a story of woe Down his age-furrow'd cheeks the warm tears often ran;
Alike proud to conquer, or spare a brave foe,
As he counted the slain, "Oh, Conquest!" he cried,
"Thou art glorious indeed, but how dearly thou'rt won!"
"Too dearly, alas!" a voice faintly repliedIt thrill'd through his heart!-'twas the voice of his
He listen'd aghast !—all was silent again;
He search'd by the beams which his lamp feebly shed,
And found his brave Son, amid hundreds of slain, The corse of a comrade supporting his head!
"My Henry!" the sorrowful parent exclaim'd, "Has fate rudely wither'd thy laurels so soon?" The youth op'd his eyes, as he heard himself nam'd, And awoke for a while, from his death-boding
He gaz'd on his Father, who knelt by his side, And seizing his hand, press'd it close to his heart; "Thank Heav'n, thou art here, my dear Father!" he cried;
"For soon! ah, too soon we for ever must part!
"Though death early calls me from all that I love! From glory, from thee, yet perhaps 'twill be giv'n To meet thee again in yon regions above!" His eyes beam'd with hope, as he fix'd them on heav'n.
"Then let not thy bosom with vain sorrow swell;
THE kiss, dear maid! thy lip has left,
Thy parting glance, which fondly beams, An equal love may see;
The tear that from thine eyelid streams, Can weep no change in me.
I ask no pledge to make me blest
Nor need I write-to tell the tale
Unless the heart could speak?
By day or night, in weal or woe,