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and perished when the ship foundered in the channel of Mozambique. The melancholy fate of the author thus doubles the interest of his poem.
FROM THE SHIPWRECK.
The sun's bright orb, declining all serene, Now glanced obliquely o’er the woodland scene. Creation smiles around; on every spray The warbling birds exalt their evening lay. Blithe skipping o'er yon hill, the fleecy train Join the deep chorus of the lowing plain : The golden lime and orange there were seen, On fragrant branches of perpetual green. The crystal streams, that velvet meadows lave, To the green ocean roll with chiding wave. The glassy ocean hush'd forgets to roar, But trembling murmurs on the sandy shore : And, lo! his surface, lovely to behold! Glows in the west, a sea of living gold ! While, all above, a thousand liveries gay The skies with pomp ineffable array. Arabian sweets perfume the happy plains : Above, beneath, around, enchantment reigns ! While yet the shades, on time's eternal scale, With long vibration deepen o'er the vale ; While yet the songsters of the vocal grové, With dying numbers, tune the soul to love ; With joyful eyes the attentive master sees The auspicious omens of an eastern breeze.
Now radiant Vesper leads the starry train,
And night slow draws her veil o'er land and
Round the charged bowl the sailors form a ring ;
By turns recount the wondrous tale, or sing ;
As love or battle, hardships of the main,
Or genial wine, awake their homely strain :
Then some the watch of night alternate keep,
The rest lie buried in oblivious sleep.
Deep midnight now involves the livid skies,
While infant breezes from the shore arise.
The waning moon, behind a watery shroud,
Pale glimmer'd o'er the long-protracted cloud.
A mighty ring around her silver throne,
With parting meteors crost, portentous shone.
This in the troubled sky full oft prevails ;
Oft deem'd a signal of tempestuous gales.
DESCRIPTION OF THE MINSTREL.. The wight, whose tale these artless lines unfold, Was all the offspring of this humble pair : His birth no oracle or seer foretold; No prodigy appear'd in earth or air,
Nor aught that might a strange event declare.
You guess each circumstance of Edwin's birth ;
The parent's transport, and the parent's care ;
The gossip's prayer for wealth, and wit, and
worth ; And one long summer-day of indolence and
And yet poor Edwin was no vulgar boy,
Deep thought oft seem'd to fix his infant eye.
Dainties he heeded not, nor gaude, nor toy,
Save one short pipe of rudest minstrelsy :
Silent when glad; affectionate, though shy;
And now his look was most demurely sad ;
And now he laugh'd aloud, yet none knew why.
The neighbours stared and sigh'd, yet bless'd
the lad; Some deem'd him wondrous wise, and some be-,
lieved him mad.
But why should I his childish feats display?
Concourse, and noise, and toil, he ever fled ;
Nor cared to mingle in the clamorous fray
Of squabbling imps; but to the forest sped,
Or roam'd at large the lonely mountain's head,
Or, where the maze of some bewilder'd stream
To deep untrodden groves his footsteps led.
There would he wander wild, till Phæbus' beam,
Shot from the western cliff, released the weary
The exploit of strength, dexterity, or speed,
To him nor vanity nor joy could bring.
His heart, from cruel sport estranged, would
bleed To work the wo of any living thing, By trap, or net; by arrow, or by sling ; These he detested ; those he scorn'd to wield : He wish'd to be the guardian, not the king, Tyrant far less, or traitor of the field. And sure the sylvan reign unbloody joy might
Lo! where the stripling, wrapt in wonder, roves
Beneath the precipice o'erhung with pine,
And sees, on high, amidst the encircling groves,
From cliff to cliff the foaming torrents shine ;
While waters, woods, and winds, in concert
And echo swells the chorus to the skies,
Would Edwin this majestic scene resign
For aught the huntsman's puny craft supplies ?
Ah! no: he better knows great Nature's charms
And oft he traced the uplands, to survey,
When o'er the sky advanced the kindling dawn,
The crimson cloud, blue main, and mountain
And lake, dim-gleaming on the smoky lawn :
Far to the west the long, long vale withdrawn,
Where twilight loves to linger for a while ;
And now he faintly kens the bounding fawn,
And villager abroad at early toil.
But, lo! the sun appears! and heaven, earth,
And oft the craggy cliff he loved to climb,
When all in mist the world below was lost.
What dreadful pleasure ! there to stand sublime,
Like shipwreck'd mariner on desert coast,
And view the enormous waste of vapour, tost
In billows, lengthening to the horizon round,
Now scoop'd in gulfs, with mountains now em-
boss'd! And hear the voice of inirth and song rebound, Flocks, herds, and waterfalls, along the hoar pro
In truth he was a strange and wayward wight,
Fond of each gentle and each dreadful scene.
In darkness, and in storm, he found delight :
Nor less, than when on ocean-wave serene
The southern sun diffused his dazzling shene.
Even sad vicissitude amused his soul :
And if a sigh would sometimes intervene,
And down his cheek a tear of pity roll,
A sigh, a tear, so sweet, he wish'd not to control.
BLANDUSIA! more than crystal clear!
Whose soothing murmurs charm the ear!
Whose margin soft with flowerets crown'd
Invites the festive band around,
Their careless limbs diffused supine,
To quaff the soul-enlivening wine.
To thee a tender kid I vow,
That aims for fight his budding brow ;
In thought, the wrathful combat proves,
Or wantons with his little loves :