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As danger deeper grew and dark,
Her hopes could conscience bring; And faith, and mind's immortal spark, Grew hourly brightening;
ng—'t was the lastJoy for the future !— for the past —
But thou art on the wing To track the source from whence it came, And mingle with thy parent flame!
One pang at
The nodding hearse, the sable plume,
Those attributes of pride, The artificial grief or gloom
Are pageants which but hide Hearts, from the weight of anguish free : But there were many wept for thee
Who wept for none beside, And felt, thus left alone below, The full desertedness of woe!
mourned that thou should'st lie Where Dnieper rolls and raves, Glad from barbaric realms to fly,
And blend with Pontic waves; A desert bleak :-a barren shore, Where Mercy never trod before
A land whose sons were slaves; Crouching, and fettered to the soil By feudal chains and thankless toil !
But oft, methinks, in future years,
To raise exalted thought,
Shall be thy glorious lot!
Shall tread the holy spot,
Those roses on their languid stalk
Will fade ere fades the day,
The myrtle and the bay,
Shall memory pass away,
THE BREEZE FROM THE SHORE.
BY MRS. HEMANS.
Joy is upon the lonely seas
When Indian forests pour
Their odours from the shore;
Oh! welcome are the winds that tell
A wanderer of the deep,
And where the myrrh-trees weep!
The sailor at the helm they meet,
And Hope his bosom stirs,
The fair earth's messengers,
They woo him, whispering lovely tales
Of many a flowering glade,
Of golden-fruited shade;
And, oh! ye masters of the lay,
Come not even thus your songs,
Amidst her toiling throngs ?
Their is from the brighter clime
That in our birth hath part,
Seres not within the heart;
They call us, with a voice divine,
Back to our early love,-
· Whence far and fast we rove : Welcome high thought, and holy strain,
That make us truth's and heaven's again! Literary Souvenir.
A LYRICAL BALLAD.
An almost coldness autumn sky,
Uplifts the gossamer, —
Uplifts that mazy roof, whereon
It spreads on every side.
Turn to the sun,- and it will shine,
Just like a moonlight sea.
Look back,-e'en there, their trammels slight
Save when they meet the sun.
Strange work, ye tiny artisans,
More of it than the clown.
Pardon that we your
sweep, For yon
old elms our steps invite, Round which a troop of swallows keep
A restless, graceful flight.
It is my chimney's full-fledged brood,
Their skill in falconry.
Feed on, glad birds, you will not long
For each to imp his wing.
The summons has arrived; for flight
Assembled in the air,
Incessant twittering filled the sky,
Before they quit the North.
Twilight's grey vault was all astir
Their clarions sound retreat.
Their privilege I envy not,
At the expense of home!
Strangers ye are- - itinerants Pilgrims, that wend from feast to feastAn annual caravan, that haunts
This pleasant stage for rest.
No wanderer I— me 't would not suit
'Neath ever-shifting skies ;
Plant-like, once fixed, I joy to spread
On sight and recollection.