Unlike his glory's rising morn,

When big with hope his fancy grew : Yet was his heart as firm and true;

In his lov'd country's cause as warm, As when he cheer'd his gallant crew

To face the foe, or brave the storm!

By time, and toil, and sickness chang'd,
From friends, from home, and kindred dear,
For thirty tedious years estrang'd-
When he, long lost, shall reappear,
How will they start his voice to hear!
And bless the day he ceas'd to roam,
And fondly dry each grateful tear,

And welcome the poor wand'rer home!

Then, while the children climb his knees,
And youth and age stand list'ning by,
He'll tell, when oft he plough'd the seas,
Winds blew, and waves ran mountains high;

And, while a tear bedews each eye,

Declare, but in a falt'ring tone,

He saw the gallant Nelson die,

And heard the hero's parting groan.

How, as he gloriously expir'd,

Dread war a fiercer aspect wore ;

As Britain's sons, with vengeance fir'd,

Bade all their brazen cannons roar; Till rude Trafalgar's rocky shore,

And heaving ocean's depths profound, Proclaim'd the conq'ring chief no more, And echoed back the solemn sound.

How once the ship was tempest driv’n,
In Biscay's deep and treacherous Bay,
Without one blessed star from Heav'n
To light her on her lonely way;
O, then 'twas first he learn'd to pray!
And own th' Almighty's sov'reign will;
When He, whom winds and seas obey,
Stretch'd forth his arm-and all was still.

How, captive in a foreign land,
Far off, beneath the burning zone,
Th' abode of men, a savage band,
Who worshipp'd idols of their own:
He made the glorious Gospel known;
With reverential awe they heard,
And bow'd before Jehovah's throne,
And bless'd Salvation's sacred word.

When wounded on the deck he lay,

And death stood by with terrors grim,

And eager monsters watch'd their prey, And sea-birds sang his funeral hymn, Death had no slavish fears for him!

Let cowards shrink at every ballWhat! if he lost his life, or limb,

His king and country claim'd it all.

Now let the wand'rer rest in peace, And wear out life's remaining span ; Here let the bold inquirer cease

The will of Providence to scan: Dark are the ways of God to man!

And he who bears misfortune's blast, Shall bless each wise mysterious plan, And anchor safe in Port at last.

Y

THE PILGRIM.

I AM a weary Pilgrim, on my way
To the far ocean of Eternity;

Silent, forlorn, and faint of heart, I stray,

And long to pass the brink-it must not be— He, at whose voice the vivid lightnings flee,

And the loud thunders cease, hath plac'd me here; And sooner may yon sun desert his sphere, Those orbs unbidden shoot their course from Heav'n, Than I, by fell despair and madness driv❜n, Plunge headlong in that dark mysterious seaLet Heav'n's own mandate set the pris'ner free.

Has life no higher end than joys of sense,
Inglorious ease, rude mirth, and low desire?
Is hope extinct with man when summon'd hence?
Dwells there no portion of ethereal fire

In his frail image, once the bright attire
Of genius, virtue, dignity, and worth?
Tho' for a little season bound to earth,
He was ordain'd by the immortal Sire,
For everlasting worlds, communion higher
With glorious spirits, perfected by grace,
Who suff'ring, fainted not, but run their race.

How grand the contemplation! how sublime

To mark yon sun mount high in golden streams! And think the immortal soul, unchain'd by time,

Shall rise refulgent like those orient beams— But not to set-Hence, vain perplexing dreams! Distract with doubt the dreary sceptic's mindAltho' the narrow path to me assign'd

Be strew'd with briers and thorns, and toil and care; I ask not this philosophy to bear;

Enough for me the gracious promise giv'n,

Of time on earth, eternity in heav'n!

Yet mindful of thy goodness, I implore

Thee, my eternal Father and my Friend, Ere I am summon'd hence, and seen no more, Patience and consolation thou wouldst send; Grant me a blameless life, a peaceful end,

For bliss I may not ask this side the tombYet for thy mercy's sake, dispel the gloom That clouds my spirit—make this shining frame, This world of joy, prosperity, and fame, Less dark to me, and desolate appear, As long as 'tis thy will I linger here.

To die is painful only when we part

From those by friendship, nature, kindred dear; These bind, with adamantine chain, the heart,