'Neath skies where summer scarcely smiles,
Whose light seems but the shade of day.
But while the waves she wanders o'er,
Around her form they sink to sleep;
The pulse of nature throbs no more—
She's chained within the deep!
Then Hope for ever took her flight;
Each face, as monumental stone,
Grew ghastly, in the fading light
In which their latest sun went down;
And ere its disk to darkness past,
And closed their unreturning day,
The seaman sought the dizzy mast
To catch its latest ray.
All other secrets of their fate
From darkness would the Muse redeem;
Unheard-of horrors to relate,
Which fancy scarce may dare to dream.
Thus much we only know-they died;
All else oblivion deeply veils,
And charnels of the waters wide,
That tell no babbling tales.
For them were wishes, longings, fears,
The sleepless night and ceaseless prayer,
Hope gleaming, rainbow-like, through tears,
And doubt that darkened to despair!
Suns, seasons, as they roll away,
No light upon the lost can shed,
Their tale a secret till the day
When seas give up their dead.
Literary Souvenir.
THERE was a time-sweet time of youthful folly!-
Fantastic woes I courted, feigned distress;
Wooing the veiled phantom, Melancholy,
With passion born, like Love," in idleness."
And like a lover, like a jealous lover,
I hid mine idol with a miser's art,
(Lest vulgar eyes her sweetness should discover), Close in the inmost chambers of mine heart.
And there I sought her-oft in secret sought her,
From merry mates withdrawn, and mirthful play,
To wear away, by some deep stilly water,
In greenwood lone, the livelong summer day,
Watching the flitting clouds, the fading flowers,
The flying rack athwart the wavy grass;
And murinuring oft, "Alack! this life of ours—
Such are its joys—so swiftly doth it pass!"
And then, mine idle tears (ah, silly maiden!)
Bedropt the liquid glass, like summer rain ;-
And sighs, as from a bosom sorrow-laden,
Heaved the light heart, that knew no real pain.
And then, I loved to haunt lone burial-places,
Pacing the church-yard earth with noiseless tread ;-
To pore in new-made graves for ghastly traces,
Brown crumbling bones of the forgotten dead:
To think of passing bells—of death and dying—
Methought 't were sweet in early youth to die,
So loved, lamented-in such sweet sleep lying,
The white shroud all with flowers and rosemary
'Neath skies where summer scarcely smiles,
Whose light seems but the shade of day.
But while the waves she wanders o'er,
Around her form they sink to sleep;
The pulse of nature throbs no more-
She's chained within the deep!
Then Hope for ever took her flight;
Each face, as monumental stone,
Grew ghastly, in the fading light
In which their latest sun went down;
And ere its disk to darkness past,
And closed their unreturning day,
The seaman sought the dizzy mast
To catch its latest ray.
All other secrets of their fate
From darkness would the Muse redeem;
Unheard-of horrors to relate,
Which fancy scarce may dare to dream.
Thus much we only knów-they died;
All else oblivion deeply veils,
And charnels of the waters wide,
That tell no babbling tales.
For them were wishes, longings, fears,
The sleepless night and ceaseless prayer,
Hope gleaming, rainbow-like, through tears,
And doubt that darkened to despair!
Suns, seasons, as they roll away,
No light upon the lost can shed,
Their tale a secret till the day
When seas give up their dead.
Literary Souvenir.
THERE was a time-sweet time of youthful folly!
Fantastic woes I courted, feigned distress;
Wooing the veiled phantom, Melancholy,
With passion born, like Love," in idleness."
And like a lover, like a jealous lover,
I hid mine idol with a miser's art,
(Lest vulgar eyes her sweetness should discover), Close in the inmost chambers of mine heart.
And there I sought her—oft in secret sought her, From merry mates withdrawn, and mirthful play, To wear away, by some deep stilly water,
In greenwood lone, the livelong summer day,
Watching the flitting clouds, the fading flowers,
The flying rack athwart the wavy grass;
And murmuring oft, "Alack! this life of ours-
Such are its joys—so swiftly doth it pass!"
And then, mine idle tears (ah, silly maiden !)
Bedropt the liquid glass, like summer rain;
And sighs, as from a bosom sorrow-laden,
Heaved the light heart, that knew no real pain.
And then, I loved to haunt lone burial-places,
Pacing the church-yard earth with noiseless tread ;-
To pore in new-made graves for ghastly traces,
Brown crumbling bones of the forgotten dead:
To think of passing bells-of death and dying-
Methought 't were sweet in early youth to die,
So loved, lamented-in such sweet sleep lying,
The white shroud all with flowers and rosemary
Strewed o'er by loving hands!—But then 't would grieve me
Too sore, forsooth! the scene my fancy drew;
I could not bear the thought, to die and leave ye;
And I have lived, dear friends! to weep for you.
And I have lived to prove that fading flowers
Are life's best joys, and all we love and prize— What chilling rains succeed the summer showers, What bitter drops, wrung slow from elder eyes.
And I have lived to look on Death and dying,
To count the sinking pulse—the shortening breath,—
To watch the last faint life-streak flying-flying, —
To stoop-to start-to be alone with- Death.
And I have lived to wear the smile of gladness,
When all within was cheerless, dark, and cold—
When all earth's joys seemed mockery and madness,
And life more tedious than "a tale twice told.”
And now—and now, pale pining Melancholy!
No longer veiled for me your haggard brow
In pensive sweetness-such as youthful folly
Fondly conceited—I abjure ye now!
Away-avaunt! No longer now I call ye
"Divinest Melancholy! mild, meek maid!”
No longer may your siren spells enthral me,
A willing captive in your baleful shade.
Give me the voice of mirth, the sound of laughter—
The sparkling glance of Pleasure's roving eye.
The past is past.-Avaunt, thou dark Hereafter!
"Come, eat and drink-to-morrow we must die !"
So, in his desperate mood, the fool hath spoken—
The fool whose heart hath said, "there is no God."
But for the stricken heart, the spirit broken,
There's balm in Gilead yet. The very rod,
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