ON A BEAUTIFUL STATUE.

167

That tells us there shall be no

"slaves"

Her stalwart sons among;

That wheresoe'er her flag may wave,

Her "charter," won from heaven, she'll keep― Still potent to destroy or save

Her empire o'er the deep!

ON A BEAUTIFUL STATUE BY RICHARD LANE, ESQ., OF HIS DEAD CHILD.

I SAW thee in thy beauty, bright phantom of the past,
I saw thee for a moment, 'twas the first time and the last;
And though years since then have glided by of mingled bliss
and care,

I never have forgotten thee, thou fairest of the fair!

I saw thee in thy beauty, thou wert graceful as the fawn,
When in very wantonness of glee it sports upon the lawn;
I saw thee seek the mirror, and when it met thy sight,
The very air was musical with thy burst of wild delight!

I saw thee in thy beauty, with thy sister by thy side,—
She a lily of the valley, thou a rose in all its pride;
I looked upon thy mother, there was triumph in her eyes,
But I trembled for her happiness, for grief had made me wise.

I saw thee in thy beauty, with one hand among her curls, The other, with no gentle grasp, had seized a string of pearls;

She felt the pretty trespass, and she chid thee, though she

smiled,

And I knew not which was lovelier, the mother or the child.

I saw thee in thy beauty, and a tear came to mine eye, As I pressed thy rosy cheek to mine, and thought e'en thou couldst die;

Thy home was like a summer bower by thy joyous presence

made,

But I only saw the sunshine, and I felt alone the shade.

I saw thee in thy beauty, and a cloud passed o'er my brow,
As I thought of one as passing fair, as fondly loved as thou;
I remembered how at set of sun, I blessed him as he lay;
I remembered, ere its rising, how his soul had passed away.

I see thee in thy beauty, for there thou seem'st to lie,
In slumber resting peacefully, but, oh! that change of eye,
That fixed serenity of brow, those lips that breathe no more,
Proclaim thee but a mockery fair of what thou wert of yore.

I see thee in thy beauty, with thy waving hair at rest,
And thy busy little fingers folded lightly on thy breast;
But thy merry dance is over, thy little race is run,
And the mirror that reflected two can now give back but one.

I see thee in thy beauty, with thy mother by thy side,
But her loveliness is faded, and quelled her glance of pride;
The smile is absent from her lips, and absent are the pearls,
And a cap, almost of widowhood, conceals her envied curls.

I see thee in thy beauty, as I saw thee on that day;

But the mirth that gladdened then thy home, fled with thy life

away;

ON THE DEATH OF A YOUNG FRIEND. 169

I see thee lying motionless upon the accustomed floor,

But

my heart hath blinded both mine eyes, and I can see no more!

ON THE DEATH OF A YOUNG FRIEND, OF FEVER, AT LAGUIRA.

"By foreign hands thy dying eyes were closed;
By foreign hands thy decent limbs composed;
By foreign hands thy humble grave adorned;
By strangers honoured, and by strangers mourned."

РОРЕ.

He left his home with a bounding heart,
For the world was all before him;
And felt it scarce a pain to part,

Such sunbright dreams came o'er him:
He turned him to visions of future years,
The rainbow's hues were 'round them;
And a father's bodings, a mother's tears,

Might not weigh with the hopes that crowned them.

That mother's cheek is far paler now,

Than when she last caressed him;

There's an added gloom on that father's brow,
Since the hour when last he blessed him:

Oh! that all human hopes should prove
Like the flower that will fade to-morrow;
And the cankering fears of anxious love
Ever end in truth and sorrow!

He left his home with a swelling sail,
Of fame and fortune dreaming,-

With a spirit as free as the vernal gale,
Or the pennant above him streaming:
He hath reached his goal;-by a distant wave,
'Neath a sultry sun they laid him;
And strangers bent above his grave
When the last sad rites were paid him.

He should have died in his own loved land,
With friends and kindred near him;
Not have withered thus on a foreign strand,
With no cherished friend to cheer him.
But what recks it now? Is his sleep less sound,
Where the breezes wild have swept him,
Than if home's green turf his grave had bound,
Or the hearts he loved had wept him?

Then why repine? Can he feel the rays
That pestilent sun sheds o'er him;
Or share the grief that must cloud the days
Of the friends who now deplore him?
No; his bark's at anchor, its sails are furled,
It hath 'scaped the storm's deep chiding;
And safe from the buffeting waves of the world,
In a haven of peace is riding.

FORGET THEE,—NO, NEVER!

FORGET thee,-no, never! Why cherish a thought
To the friend of thy soul with injustice so fraught;
Why embitter our fast fading moments of bliss
By suspicion so wild and unfounded as this?

A DAY DREAM.

Forget thee,-no, never! Among the light hearted,

171

Love may droop and decay when the fond ones are parted, But affection like ours is too deep and sublime

To be chilled in its ardour by absence or time.

Then, gentle one, banish all doubt from thy breast;
By the kiss that so late on thy lips I impressed;

By the griefs that have blighted the bloom of my years:
By the hope that still calls forth a smile through my tears:

But the hour of our parting, thus sweetly delayed;
By truth deeply tried, and by trust unbetrayed;-
I will not forget thee!-Till life's latest ray
In the dark night of death shall have melted away,-

'Mid ambition, fame, poverty, riches, or sadness,—
Pain or peril, or hate, or contention, or gladness;
Let changes the darkest or brightest betide,
Thy memory shall still be my solace and pride!

A DAY DREAM,

WRITTEN AFTER THE AUTHORS RECOVERY FROM ILLNESS.

"O! it is pleasant, with a heart at ease,

Just after sunset, or by moonlight skies,

To make the shifting clouds be what you please."

COLERIDGE.

WHY, what a Paradise is earth to-day!

Some heavy torpor must have locked my soul

In dull, unvarying listlessness till now!

Some envious film must sure have dimmed my eyes,