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How long didst thou think that his silence was slumber? When the wind waved his garments, how oft didst

thou start? How many long days and long nights didst thou

number, Ere he faded before thee, the friend of thy heart? But ah! was it meet, that no requiem read o'er him, No mother to weep, and no friend to deplore him, And thou, little guardian, alone stretch'd before him, Unhonour'd the pilgrim from life should depart?

When a prince to the fate of a peasant has yielded,
The dark tapestry waves round the dim-lighted hall ;
With 'scutcheons of silver, the coffin is shielded,
And pages stand mute by the canopied pall;
Through the courts at deep midnight, the torches are

gleaming, In the proudly arched chapel the banners are beam

ing, Far adown the long aisle sacred music is streaming, Lamenting a chief of the people should fall.

But meeter for thee, gentle lover of nature,
To lay down thy head like the meek mountain lamb,
When, 'wildered, he drops from some cliff huge in

stature, And draws his last sob by the side of his dam; And more stately thy couch, by this desert lake

Thy obsequies sung by the gray plover flying,
With but one faithful friend to witness thy dying,
In the arms of Helvellyn and Catchedecam.



BEAUTIFUL creature ! I have been

Moments uncounted watching thee, Now flitting round the foliage green

Of yonder dark, embowering tree; And now again, in frolic glee,

Hovering around those opening flowers, Happy as nature's child should be,

Born to enjoy her loveliest bowers.

And I have gazed upon thy flight,

Till feelings I can scarce define, Awaken'd by so fair a sight,

With desultory thoughts combine Not to induce me to repine,

Or envy thee thy happiness ; But from a lot so bright as thine

To borrow musings born to bless.

For unto him whose spirit reads

Creation with a Christian's eye, Each happy living creature pleads

The cause of Him who reigns on high ; Who spann'd the earth, and arch'd the sky,

Gave life to every thing that lives, And still delighteth to supply

With happiness the life He gives.

This truth may boast but little worth,

Enforced by rhet'ric's frigid powers ;But when it has its quiet birth

In contemplation's silent hours ; When Summer's brightly peopled bowers

Bring home its teachings to the heart, Then birds and insects, shrubs and flowers,

Its touching eloquence impart.

Then thou, delightful creature, who

Wert yesterday a sightless worm, Becomest a symbol fair and true

Of hopes that own no mortal term; In thy proud change we see the germ

Of Man's sublimer destiny, While holiest oracles confirm

The type of immortality!

A change more glorious far than thine,

E'en I, thy fellow worm, may know, When this exhausted frame of mine

Down to its kindred dust shall go : When the anxiety and woe

Of being's embryo state shall seem Like phantoms flitting to and fro

In some confused and feverish dream,

For thee, who flittest gaily now,

With all thy nature asks supplied, A few brief summer days, and thou

No more amid these haunts shall glide,

As hope's fair herald-in thy pride

The sylph-like genius of the scene, But, sunk in dark oblivion's tide,

Shalt be-as thou hadst never been !

While Man's immortal part, when Time

Shall set the chainless spirit free,
May seek a brighter, happier clime

Than Fancy e'er could frame for thee :
Though bright her fairy bowers may be,

Yet brief as bright their beauties fade,
And sad Experience mourns to see

Each gourd Hope trusted in-decay'd.

CASA BIANCA. The Son of the Admiral of the Orient, who perished when

that ship blew up in the battle of the Nile,


The boy stood on the burning deck

Whence all but him had fled ;
The flame that lit the battle's wreck

Shone round him o'er the dead.

Yet beautiful and bright he stood,

As born to rule the storm ;
A creature of heroic blood,

A. proud, though child-like form.

The flames roll'd on--he would not go

Without his father's word ;

That father, faint in death below,

His voice no longer heard.

He called aloud :-"Say, Father, say,

If yet my task is done?"
He knew not that the chieftain lay

Unconscious of his soa.

“ Speak, father,” once again he cried,

“ If I may yet be gone! And "-but the booming shots replied,

And fast the flames rolled on.

Upon his brow he felt their breath,

And in his waving hair,
And looked from that lone post of death

In still, but brave despair.

And shouted but once more aloud,

"My father! must I stay?While o'er him fast, through sail and shroud,

The wreathing fires made way.

They wrapp'd the ship in splendour wild,

They caught the flag on high,
And streamed above the gallant child,

Like banners in the sky.

There came a burst of thunder sound

The boy-oh! where was he? Ask of the winds that far around With fragments strewed the sea !

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