But the white foam of waves shall thy winding-sheet be, And winds, in the midnight of winter, thy dirge. On a bed of green sea-flower thy limbs shall be laid Days, months, years, and ages, shall circle away, O sailor boy! sailor boy! peace to thy soul! DIMOND. BRUCE AT THE SOURCE OF THE NILE. IN sunset's light o'er Afric thrown, Of Egypt's awful flood; The cradle of that mighty birth, So long a hidden thing to earth. He heard its life's first murmuring sound, A low, mysterious tone; A music sought, but never found By kings and warriors gone; He listened, and his heart beat high ;- The rapture of a conqueror's mood Though stillness lay, with eve's last smile, Night came with stars ; -across his soul There swept a sudden change, Even at the pilgrim's glorious goal, A shadow dark and strange, Breathed from the thought, so swift to fall O'er triumph's hour;-And is this all? No more than this! what seemed it now A thousand streams of lovelier flow They called him back to many a glade, Where brightly, through the beechen shade, They called him with their sounding waves Back to his father's hills and graves. But, darkly mingling with the thought Of each familiar scene, Rose up a fearful vision, fraught With all that lay between ; The Arab's lance, the desert's gloom, Where was the glow of power and pride? With yearnings for his home; He wept; the stars of Afric's heaven Even on that spot, where fate had given The meed of toiling years. -O Happiness! how far we flee Thine own sweet paths, in search of thee! MRS. HEMANS. TO AN INDIAN GOLD COIN. SLAVE of the dark and dirty mine! So bright, whom I have bought so dear? The tent-rope's flapping lone I hear, For twilight converse, arm in arm; The jackall's shrieks burst on my ear, Where mirth and music wont to charm. By Cherical's dark, wandering stream, Slave of the mine! thy yellow light Gleams baleful as the tomb-fires drear. A gentle vision comes by night, My lonely, widowed heart to cheer; Her eyes are dim with many a tear, That once were guiding stars to mine; Her fond heart throbs with many a fear;I cannot bear to see thee shine! For thee, for thee, vile yellow slave! I crossed the tedious ocean wave, To roam in climes unkind and new; The cold wind of the stranger blew Chill on my withered heart; the grave, Dark and untimely, met my view,And all for thee, vile yellow slave! Ha! com'st thou now, so late, to mock Of sun-rays, tipt with death, has borne, From love, from friendship, country, torn, To memory's fond regrets the prey? Vile slave thy yellow dross I scorn ;Go, mix thee with thy kindred clay! LEYDEN. HOME. WHERE burns the loved hearth brightest, Cheering the social breast? Of meek-eyed patience born, To those who ever roam; There blend the ties that strengthen |