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I hear, from clouds of fluid gold,
The evening music of the west, While the light gondolas unfold
Their silken sails on ocean's breast.
From moonlight decks the golden string
Sounds, while the conscious waters heave, And o'er the shrouds I love to sing
The requiem of the dying eve.
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,
My sanguine coral's branching tree
The liquid lustre of the sea.
With tones that minist'ring angels breathe, When glows the blush of pure delight,
To warm the pallid cheek of death.
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
Emerge from Zembla's broken foam.
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,
And the snow-cloud's changing meteors burn, I weep to think, that from the wave
The fated barks shall ne'er return.
When the cry of death is on the deep,
And struggling valour toils in vain, I hush, in everlasting sleep,
The luckless wand'rers of the main.
When their life-blood o'er the ocean swims,
And curdles round my central cave, 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, To embalm the billows' fitful swell,
That surges o'er the sailor's tomb.
Round many a proud unshaken height,
That props the blue vault of the sky,
While from my streaming locks I fing
The fragrance of the ocean breeze, I hear the lunar spirits sing
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 The standard of Britain triumphantly wav'd; And the remnant of foes had all Hed in despair, Whom night, intervening, from slaughter bad sav'd;.
When a veteran was seen, by the light of his lamp,
Though dauntless in war, at a story of woe
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
“ Too dearly, alas!” a voice faintly replied It thrill'd through his heart !—'twas the voice of his
He listen'd aghast !-all was silent again;
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!
“ Then let not thy bosom with vain sorrow swell;
The kiss, dear maid ! thy lip has left,
Shall never part from mine, Till happier hours restore the gift
Untainted back to thine.
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
In musing when alone;
Whose thoughts are all thine own.
Nor need I write to tell the tale
My pen were doubly weak : Oh! what can idle words avail,
Unless the heart could speak ?
By day or night, in weal or woe,
That heart, no longer free,
And silent ache for thee.