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To Infancy, that lisps her praise — to Age

Of those who, in that dauntless energy, Whose eye reflects it, glistening through a tear Foretaste deliverance; but the least perturbed Of tremulous admiration. Such true fame

Can scarcely trust his eyes, when he perceives Awaits her now; but, verily, good deeds

That of the pair - tossed on the waves to bring
Do no imperishable record find

Hope to the hopeless, to the dying, life-
Save in the rolls of heaven, where hers may live One is a woman, a poor earthly sister,
A theme for angels, when they celebrate

Or, be the visitant other than she seems,
The high-souled virtues which forgetful earth A guardian spirit sent from pitying Heaven,
Has witnessed. Oh! that winds and waves could speak In woman's shape. But why prolong the tale,
Of things which their united power call forth

Casting weak words amid a host of thoughts
From the pure depths of her humanity!

Armed to repel them? Every hazard faced
A maiden gentle, yet, at duty's call,

And difficulty mastered, with resolve
Firm and unflinching, as the lighthouse reared That no one breathing should be left to perish,
On the Island-rock, her lonely dwelling-place;

This last remainder of the crew are all
Or like the invincible rock itself, that braves

Placed in the little boat, then o'er the deep Age after age the hostile elements,

Are safely borne, landed upon the beach, As when it guarded holy Cuthbert's cell.

And, in fulfilment of God's mercy, lodged

Within the sheltering lighthouse. — Shout ye waves ! All night the storm had raged, nor ceased, nor paused, Send forth a song of triumph. Waves and winds, When, as day broke, the maid, through misty air, Exult in this deliverance wrought through faith Espies far off a wreck, amid the surf,

In Him whose Providence your rage hath served! Beating on one of those disastrous isles

Ye screaming Sea-mews, in the concert join ! Half of a vessel, half — no more; the rest

And would that some immortal voice Had vanished, swallowed up with all that there Fitly attuned to all that gratitude Had for the common safety striven in vain,

Breathes out from floor or couch, through pallid lips Or thither thronged for refuge. With quick glance Of the survivors — to the clouds might bear Daughter and siré through optic-glass discern, Blended with praise of that parental love, Clinging about the remnant of this ship,

Beneath whose watchful eye the maiden grew Creatures — how precious in the maiden's sight! Pious and pure, modest and yet so brave, For whom, belike, the old man grieves still more Though young so wise, though meek so resolute Than for their fellow-sufferers engulfed

Might carry to the clouds and to the stars,
Where every parting agony is hushed,

Yea, to celestial choirs, Grace Darling's name!
And hope and fear mix not in further strife.
“But courage, father! let us out to sea —
A few may yet be saved.” The daughter's words,

Her earnest tone, and look beaming with faith,
Dispel the father's doubts: nor do they lack

The noble-minded mother's helping hand

[When a Northern Indjan, from sickness, is unable to continue To launch the boat; and with her blessing cheered, journey with his companions, he is les behind, corored over with And inwardly sustained by silent prayer,

deer-skins, and is supplied with water, food, and fiel, if the situa. Together they put forth, father and child !

tion of the place will afford it. He is informed of the tracks hoch

bis companions intend to pursue, and if he he unable to follow..! Each grasp an oar, and struggling on they go

overtake them, he perishes alone in the desert ; unless he shoul. Rivals in effort; and, alike intent

have the good fortune to fall in with some other tribes of Inelisins Here to elude and there surmount, they watch

The females are equally, or still more, exposed to the same sale The billows lengthening, mutually crossed

See that very interesting work Hearne's Journey from Hensok* And shattered, and re-gathering their might;

Bay to the NORTHERN OCEAN. In the high northern latitudes, as

the same writer informs us, when the northern lights vary their As if the tumult, by the Almighty's will

position in the air, they make a rustling and a crackling noise, as Were, in the conscious sea, roused and prolonged

alluded to in the following poem.) That woman's fortitude — so tried, so proved — May brighten more and more!

BEFORE I see another day,

O let my body die away!
True to the mark,

In sleep I heard the northern gleams;
They stem the current of that perilous gorge,

The stars, they were among my dreams; Their arms still strengthening with the strengthening In rustling conflict through the skies, heart,

I heard, I saw the flashes drive, Though danger as the wreck is near'd, becomes

And yet they are upon my eyes, More imminent. Not unseen do they approach;

And yet I am alive; And rapture, with varieties of fear

Before I see another day, Incessantly conflicting, thrills the frames

O let my body die away!



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Mfy fire is dead: it knew no pain; Yet is it dead, and I remain: All stiff with ice the ashes lie; And they are dead, and I will die. When I was well, I wished to live, For clothes, for warmth, for food, and fire; But they to me no joy can give, No pleasure now, and no desire. Then here contented will I lie ! Alone, I cannot fear to die.


Alas! ye might have dragged me on
Another day, a single one!
Too soon I yielded to despair;
Why did ye listen to my prayer?
When ye were gone, my limbs were stronger;
And 0, how grievously I rue,
That, afterwards, a little longer,
My friends, I did not follow you !
For strong and without pain I lay,
Dear friends, when ye were gone away.


My child! they gave thee to another, A woman who was not thy mother. When from my arms my babe they took, On me how strangely did he look! Through his whole body something ran, A most strange working did I see; - As if he strove to be a man, 'I'nat he might pull the sledge for me: And then he stretched his arms, how wild! mercy! like a helpless child.

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Young as I am, my course is run,
I shall not see another sun;
I cannot lift my limbs to know
If they have any life or no.
My poor forsaken child, if I
For once could have thee close to me,
With happy heart I then would die,
And my last thought would happy be ;
But thou, dear babe, art far away,
Nor shall I see another day

DEPARTED child! I could forget thee once
Though at my bosom nursed; this woeful gain
Thy dissolution brings, that in my soul
Is present and perpetually abides
A shadow, never, never to be displaced
By the returning substance, seen or touched,
Seen by mine eyes, or clasped in my

Absence and death how differ they! and how
Shall I admit that nothing can restore
What one short sigh so easily removed?
Death, life, and sleep, reality and thought,
Assist me, God, their boundaries to know,
O teach me calm submission to thy Will!

The child she mourned had overstepped the pale
Of infancy, but still did breathe the air
That sanctifies its confines, and partook
Reflected beams of that celestial light
To all the little-ones on sinful earth
Not unvouchsafed - a light that warmed and cheered
Those several qualities of heart and mind
Which, in her own blest nature, rooted deep,
Daily before the mother's watchful eye,
And not hers only, their peculiar charms
Unfolded, — beauty, for its present self,
And for its promises to future years,
With not unfrequent rapture fondly hailed.

My little joy! my little pride!
In two days more I must have died.
Then do not weep and grieve for me;
I feel I must have died with thee.
O wind, that o'er my head art flying

way my friends their course did bend,
I should not feel the pain of dying,
Could I with thee a message send ;
Tou soon, my friends, ye went away;
For I had many things to say.


Have you espied upon a dewy lawn
A pair of Leverets each provoking each
To a continuance of their fearless sport,
Two separate creatures in their several gifts
Abounding, but so fashioned that, in all
That nature prompts them to display, their looks,
Their starts of motion and their fits of rest,
An undistinguishable style appears
And character of gladness, as if spring
Lodged in their innocent bosoms, and the spirit
Of the rejoicing morning were their own.

I'll follow you across the snow;
fe travel heavily and slow;
10 spite of all my weary pain,
I'll look upon your tents again.
- My tire is dead, and snowy white
The water which beside it stood :
The wolf has come to me to-night,
And he has stolen away my fond.
For ever left alone am I;
Then wherefore should I fear to die?

Such union, in the lovely girl maintained
And her twin brother, had the parent seen,
Ere, pouncing like a ravenous bird of prey,
Death in a moment parted them, and left

The mother, in her turns of anguish, worse

So clear, so bright, our fathers said Than desolate; for ofttimes from the sound

He wears a jewel in his head ! Of the survivor's sweetest voice (dear child,

And when, upon some showery day, He knew it not) and from his happiest looks,

Into a path or public way Did she extract the food of self-reproach,

A frog leaps out from bordering grass, As one that lived ungrateful for the stay

Startling the timid as they pass, By Heaven affyrded to uphold her maimed

Do you observe him, and endeavour And tottering spirit. And full oft the boy,

To take the intruder into favour; Now first acquainted with distress and grief,

Learning from him to find a reason
Shrunk from his mother's presence, shunned with fear For a light heart in a dull season.
Her sad approach, and stole a way to find,

And you may love him in the pool,
In his known haunts of joy where'er he might, That is for him a happy school,
A more congenial object. But, as time

In which he swims as taught by nature,
Softened her pangs and reconciled the child

Fit pattern for a human creature, To what he saw, he gradually returned,

Glancing amid the water bright,
Like a scared bird encouraged to renew

And sending upward sparkling light.
A broken intercourse ; and, while his eyes
Were yet with pensive fear and gentle awe

Nor blush if o'er your heart be stealing
Turned upon her who bore him, she would stoop A love for things that have no feeling:
To imprint a kiss that lacked not power to spread The Spring's first rose by you espied,
Faint colour over both their pallid cheeks,

May fill your breast with joyful pride;
And stilled his tremulous lip. Thus they were calmed And you may love the strawberry-flower,
And cheered; and now together breathe fresh air And love the strawberry in its bower;
In open fields; and when the glare of day

But when the fruit, so often praised
Is gone, and twilight to the mother's wish

For beauty, to your lip is raised,
Befriends the observance, readily they join

Say not you love the delicate treat,
In walks whose boundary is the lost one's grave, But like it, enjoy it, and thankfully eat.
Which he with flowers hath planted, finding there
Amusement, where the mother does not miss

Long may you love your pensioner mouse,
Dear consolation, kneeling on the turf

Though one of a tribe that torment the house: In prayer, yet blending with that solemn rite

Nor dislike for her cruel sport the cat, Of pious faith the vanities of grief;

Deadly foe both of mouse and rat; For such, by pitying Angels and by Spirits

Remember she follows the law of her kind, Transferred to regions upon which the clouds

And instinct is neither wayward nor blind. Of our weak nature rest not, must be deemed

Then think of her beautiful gliding form, Those willing tears, and unforbidden sighs,

Her tread that would scarcely crush a worm,
And all those tokens of a cherished sorrow,

And her soothing song by the winter fire,
Which, soothed and sweetened by the grace of Heaven Soft as the dying throb of the lyre.
As now it is, seems to her own fond heart,
Immortal as the love that gave it being.

I would not circumscribe your love:
It may soar with the eagle and brood with the dove
May pierce the earth with the patient mole,

Or track the hedgehog to his hole.

Loving and liking are the solace of life,

Rock the cradle of joy, smooth the death-bed of strits IRREGULAR VERSES, ADDRESSED TO A CHILD.

You love your father and your mother,

Your grown-up and your baby brother; THERE's more in words than I can teach:

You love your sister, and your

friends, Yet listen, child !- I would not preach;

And countless blessings which God sends : But only give some plain directions

And while these right affections play, To guide your speech and your affections.

You live each moment of your day; Say not you love a roasted fowl,

They lead you on to full content, But you may love a screaming owl,

And likings fresh and innocent, And, if you can, the unwieldy toad

That store the mind, the memory feed, That crawls from his secure abode

And prompt to many a gentle deed : Within the mossy garden wall

But likings come, and pass away; When evening dews begin to fall.

'Tis love that remains till our latest day: O mark the beauty of his eye:

Our heavenward guide is holy love, What wonders in that circle lie!

And will be our bliss with saints above,


Which old folk, fondly pleased to trim
Lamps of faith, now burning dim,
Say that the cherubs carved in stone,
When clouds gave way at dead of night
And the ancient church was filled with light,
Used to sing in heavenly tone,
Above and round the sacred places
They guard, with winged baby-faces.

Thrice happy creature! in all lands Nurtured by hospitable hands: Free entrance to this cot has he, Entrance and exit both yet free; And, when the keen unruffled weather That thus brings man and bird together, Shall with its pleasantness be past, And casement closed and door made fast, To keep at bay the howling blast, He needs not fear the season's rage, For the whole house is Robin's cage. Whether the bird flit here or there, O’er table lill, or perch on chair, Though some may frown and make a stir, To scare him as a trespasser, And he belike will flinch or start, Good friends he has to take his part; One chiefly, who with voice and look Pleads for him from the chimney-nook, Where sits the dame, and wears away Her long and vacant holiday; With images about her heart, Reflected from the years gone by, On human nature's second infancy.





Driven in by Autumn's sharpening air
From half-stripped woods and pastures bare,
Brisk robin seeks a kindlier home:
Not like a beggar is he come,
But enters as a looked-for guest,
Confiding in his ruddy breast,
As if it were a natural shield
Charged with a blazon on the field,
Due to that good and pious deed
Of which we in the ballad read.
But pensive fancies putting by,
And wild-wood sorrows, speedily
He plays the expert ventriloquist;
And, caught by glimpses now — now missed,
Puzzles the listener with a doubt
If the soft voice he throws about
Comes from within doors or without !
Was ever such a sweet confusion,
Sustained by delicate illusion ?
He's at your elbow – to your feeling
The notes are from the floor or ceiling;
And there's a riddle to be guessed,
"Till you have marked his heaving chest,
And busy throat whose sink and swell
Betray the elf that loves to dwell
Io Robin's bosom, as a chosen cell.

Heart-pleased we smile upon the bird

and with like pleasure stirred
Cornmend him, when he's only heard.
But small and fugitive our gain
Compared with hers who long hath lain,
With languid limbs and patient head
Repocing on a lone sick-bed;
Where now, she daily hears a strain
That cheats her of too busy cares,
Eises her pain, and helps her prayers.
And who but this dear bird beguiled
The fever of that pale-faced child;
Now cooling with his passing wing,
Her forehead, like a breeze of Spring:
Recalling now, with descant soft
Shed round her pillow from aloft,
Sweet thoughts of angels hovering nigh,
And the invisible sympathy
0f • Matthew, Mark, and Luke, and John,
Blessing the bed she lies upon ?'*
And sometimes, just as listening ends
In slumber, with the cadence blends
A dream of that low-warbled hymn

Her eyes are wild, her head is bare,
The sun has burnt her coal-black hair;
Her eyebrows have a rusty stain,
And she came far from over the main.
She has a baby on her arm,
Or else she were alone:
And underneath the hay-stack warm,
And on the greenwood stone,
She talked and sung the woods among,
And it was in the English tongue.


The words -
Matthew, Mork, and Luke, and John,

Bless the bed that I lie on,'
are part of a child's prayer, still in general use through the

“Sweet babe! they say that I am mad,
But nay, my heart is far too glad;
And I am happy when I sing
Full many a sad and doleful thing:
Then, lovely baby, do not fear!

thee have no fear of me;
But safe as in a cradle, here
My lovely baby! thou shalt be:
To thee I know too much I owe;
I cannot work thee any woe,

northern counties.

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