THE CONVICT SHIP. Morn on the waters !—and purple and bright Bursts on the billows the flushing of light; O'er the glad waves, like a child of the sun, See, the tall vessel goes gallantly on. Full to the breeze she unbosoms her sail, And her pennon streams onward, like hope, in the gale; The winds come around her with murmur and song, And the surges rejoice as they bear her along : Bright as the visions of youth, ere they part, Night on the waves! and the moon is on high, Hung like a gem, on the brow of the sky, Treading its depths in the power of her might, And turning the clouds, as they pass her, to light! Look to the waters! asleep on their breast, Seems not the ship like an island of rest? Who--as she smiles in the silvery light, Who-as he watches her silently gliding— 'Tis thus with our life, while it passes along, Like a vessel at sea, amid sunshine and song! Gaily we glide in the gaze of the world, With streamers afloat, and with canvas unfurled, All gladness and glory to wondering eyes, Yet chartered by sorrow and freighted with sighs: Fading and false is the aspect it wears, As the smiles we put on, just to cover our tears; While the withering thoughts which the world. cannot know, Like heart-broken exiles, lie burning below; And the vessel drives on to that desolate shore Where the dreams of our childhood are vanished and o'er. Hervey. THE GRAVES OF A HOUSEHOLD. They grew in beauty, side by side, The same fond mother bent at night She had each folded flower in sight- One, 'midst the forest of the west, The Indian knows his place of rest, The sea, the blue lone sea, hath one He lies where pearls lie deep; He was the loved of all, yet none O'er his low bed may weep. One sleeps where southern vines are drest, He wrapt his colours round his breast And one-o'er her the myrtle showers And parted thus they rest, who played They that with smiles lit up the hall, Mrs. Hemans. THE ANGEL'S GREETING. "Hark! they whisper! Angels say, Come to the land of peace! POPE. Come where the tempest hath no longer sway, The shadow passes from the soul away- The sounds of weeping cease. Fear hath no dwelling there! Come to the bright, and blest, And crowned for ever! 'midst that shining band, Gathered to Heaven's own wreath from every land, Thy spirit shall find rest! Thou hast been long alone; Come to thy mother! on the Sabbath shore, The heart that rocked thy childhood, back once more Shall take its wearied one. |