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TO DEATH.

FROM THE GERMAN OF Glück.

Methinks it were no pain to die
On such an eve, when such a sky

O'ercanopies the west;
To gaze my fill on yon calm deep,
And, like an infant, fall asleep

On earth, my mother's breast.

There's peace and welcome in yon sea
Of endless blue tranquillity.

These clouds are living things;
I trace their veins of liquid gold, -
I see them solemnly unfold

Their soft and fleecy wings:

Us weary

These be the angels that convey

children of a day, Life's tedious nothing o'er, Where neither passions come, nor woes, To vex the genius of repose

On Death's majestic shore.

No darkness there divides the sway
With startling dawn and dazzling day;

But gloriously serene
Are the interminable plains;
One fixed, eternal sunset reigns

O'er the wide silent scene!

I cannot doff all human fear,—
I know thy greeting is severe

To this poor shell of clay;
Yet come, O Death! thy freezing kiss
Emancipates! thy rest is bliss !

I would I were away.

BY W. DIMOND.

In the slumbers of midnight the sailor boy lay,

His hammock swung loose at the sport of the wind; But, watch-worn and weary, his cares flew away,

And visions of happiness danced o'er his mind!

He dreamt of his home, of his dear native bowers,

Of the pleasures that waited on life’s merry morn; While memory

each scene gaily covered with flowers, And restored every rose, but secreted its thorn.

Then Fancy her magical pinions spread wide,

And bade the young dreamer in ecstasy rise ;Now far, far behind him the green waters glide,

And the cot of his forefathers blesses his eyes.

The jessamine clambers in flower o'er the thatch,

And the swallow chirps sweet from her nest in the wall; All trembling with transport, he raises the latch,

And the voices of loved ones reply to his call.

A father bends o'er him with looks of delight;

His cheek is bedewed with a mother's warm tear; And the lips of the boy in a love-kiss unite

With the lips of the maid whom his bosom holds dear.

The heart of the sleeper beats high in his breast,

Joy quickens each pulse, all his hardships seem o'er; And a murmur of happiness steals through his rest

• O God! thou hast blessed me, I ask for no more!'

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Ah! whence is that flame which now glares on his eye?

Ah! what is the sound which now bursts on his ears? 'T is the lightning's red gleam, painting hell on the sky!

'T is the crashing of thunders, the groan of the spheres ! He springs from his hammock, he flies to the deck,

Amazement confronts him with images dire ; – Wild winds and mad waves drive the vessel a-wreck

The masts fly in splinters — the shrouds are on fire !

Like mountains, the billows tremendously swell —

In vain the lost wretch calls on Mercy to save;Unseen hands of spirits are ringing his knell,

And the death-angel flaps his broad wing o'er the wave!

Oh! sailor boy, woe to thy dream of delight!

In darkness dissolves the gay frost-work of bliss. Where now is the picture that fancy touched bright,

Thy parents' fond pressure, and love's honied kiss?

Oh, sailor boy! sailor boy! never again

Shall home, love, or kindred, thy wishes repay; Unblessed, and unhonoured, down deep in the main

Full many a fathom, thy frame shall decay.

No tomb shall e'er plead to remembrance for thee,

Or redeem thy lost form from the merciless surge But the white foam of waves shall thy winding-sheet be,

And winds in the midnight of winter thy dirge!

On a bed of sea-flowers thy pale limbs shall be laid,

Around thy white bones the red coral shall grow; Of thy fair yellow locks threads of amber be made,

And each tribe of the deep haunt thy mansion below.

Days, months, years, and ages shall circle away,

And still the vast waters above thee shall roll; Frail short-sighted mortals their doom must obey

Oh! sailor boy! sailor boy! peace to thy soul!

FIRST-LOVE'S RECOLLECTIONS.

BY JOHN CLARE.

Oh, long be my heart with such memories filled!
Like the vase in which odours have once been distilled;
You may break, you may ruin the vase, if you will,
But the scent of the roses will hang round it still !

MOORE.

First love will with the heart remain

When its hopes are all gone by;
As frail rose-blossoms still retain

Their fragrance when they die.
And joy's first dreams will haunt the mind

With the shades from which they sprung;
As summer leaves the stems behind

On which spring's blossoms hung.

Mary! I dare not call thee dear,

I've lost that right so long;
Yet once again I vex thine ear

With memory's idle song:
Had time and change not blotted out

The love of former days,
Thou wert the last that I should doubt

Of pleasing with my praise.

When honied tokens from each tongue

Told with what truth we loved, How rapturous to thy lips I clung,

Whilst nought but smiles reproved !
But now, methinks, if one kind word

Were whispered in thine ear,
Thou 'dst startle like an untamed bird,

And blush with wilder fear!

How loth to part, how fond to meet,

Had we two used to be!

At sunset with what eager feet

I hastened on to thee! Scarce nine days passed us ere we met

In spring, nay, wintry weather; Now nine years' suns have risen and set,

Nor found us once together!

Thy face was so familiar

grown, Thyself so often nigh, A moment's memory when alone

Would bring thee to mine eye: But now, my very dreams forget

That 'witching look to trace; Though there thy beauty lingers yet,

It wears a stranger's face!

I felt a pride to name thy name,

But now that pride hath flown;
And burning blushes speak my shame

That thus I love thee on!
I felt I then thy heart did share,

Nor urged a binding vow ;
But much I doubt if thou couldst spare

One word of kindness now.

Oh! what is now my name to thee,

Though once nought seemed so dear? Perhaps a jest in hours of glee,

To please some idle ear.
And yet, like counterfeits, with me

Impressions linger on,
Though all the gilded finery

That passed for truth is gone!

Ere the world smiled upon my lays,

A sweeter meed was mine;
Thy blushing look of ready praise

Was raised at every line.

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