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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
Hope to the hopeless, to the dying, life-
Or, be the visitant other than she seems,
Casting weak words amid a host of thoughts
Armed to repel them? Every hazard faced
And difficulty mastered, with resolve
This last remainder of the crew are all
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,
Yea, to celestial choirs, Grace Darling's name!
OF A FORSAKEN INDIAN WOMAN.
[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!
In sleep I heard the northern gleams;
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!
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
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.
Young as I am, my course is run,
The child she mourned had overstepped the pale
My little joy! my little pride!
way my friends their course did bend,
Have you espied upon a dewy lawn
I'll follow you across the snow;
Such union, in the lovely girl maintained
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
And you may love him in the pool,
In which he swims as taught by nature,
Fit pattern for a human creature, To what he saw, he gradually returned,
Glancing amid the water bright,
And sending upward sparkling light.
Nor blush if o'er your heart be stealing
May fill your breast with joyful pride;
But when the fruit, so often praised
For beauty, to your lip is raised,
Say not you love the delicate treat,
Long may you love your pensioner mouse,
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 her soothing song by the winter fire,
I would not circumscribe your love:
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,
BY MY SISTER.
Which old folk, fondly pleased to trim
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.
HER EYES ARE WILD.
SUGGESTED IN A WESTMORELAND COTTAGE.
Driven in by Autumn's sharpening air
Heart-pleased we smile upon the bird
and with like pleasure stirred
Her eyes are wild, her head is bare,
The words -
Bless the bed that I lie on,'
“Sweet babe! they say that I am mad,
thee have no fear of me;