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With mast, and helm, and pennon fair,

That well had borne their part-
But the noblest thing which perished there,

Was that young faithful heart !

MATERNAL HOPE.

Lo ! at the couch where infant beauty sleeps,
Her silent watch the mournful mother keeps ;
She, while the lovely babe unconscious lies,
Smiles on her slumbering child with pensive eyes,
And weaves a song of melancholy joy-

Sleep, image of thy father, sleep, my boy :
No lingering hour of sorrow shall be thine;
No sigh that rends thy father's heart and mine ;
Bright as his manly sire the sun shall be
In form and soul; byt, ah! more blest than he !
Thy fame, thy worth, thy filial love, at last,
Shall soothe his aching heart for all the past
With many a smile my solitude repay,
And chase the world's ungenerous scorn away.

And say, when summoned from the world and thee,
I lay my head beneath the willow
Wilt thou, sweet mourner! at my stone appear,
And soothe my parted spirit lingering near?
Oh, wilt thou come, at evening hour to shed
The tears of Memory o'er my narrow bed;
With aching temples on thy hand reclined,
Muse on the last farewell I leave behind,
Breathe a deep sigh to winds that murmur low,
And think on all my love, and all my woe ?"

So speaks affection, ére the infant eye
Can look regard, or brighten in reply;
But when the cherub lip hath learnt to claim
A mother's ear by that endearing name;

Soon as the playful innocent can prove
A tear of pity, or a smile of love,
Or cons his murmuring task beneath her care,
Or lisps with holy look his evening prayer,
Or gazing, mutely pensive, sits to hear
The mournful ballad warbled in his ear;
How fondly looks admiring Hope the while
At
every artless tear, and every

smile! How glows the joyous parent to descry A guileless bosom, true to sympathy!

THE PALM TREE.

It waved not through an Eastern sky,
Beside a fount of Araby;
It was not fanned by Southern breeze
In some green

isle of Indian seas,
Nor did its graceful shadow sleep
O'er stream of Afric, lone and deep.
But fair the exiled Palm-tree grew
Midst foliage of no kindred hue ;
Through the laburnum's dropping gold
Rose the light shaft of orient mould,
And Europe's violets faintly sweet,
Purpled the moss-beds at its feet.
Strange looked it there !—the willow streamed
Where silvery waters near it gleamed;
The lime-bough lured the honey-bee
To murmur by the desert's tree,
And showers of snowy roses made
A lustre in its fan-like shade.
There came an eve of festal hours-
Rich music filled that garden's bowers :
Lamps, that from flowering branches hung,
On sparks of dew-soft colours Aung,
And bright forms glanced-a fairy shew-
Under the blossoms to and fro.

But one, a lone one, midst the throng,
Seemed reckless all of dance or song:
He was a youth of dusky mien,
Whereon the Indian sun had been,
Of crested brow, and long black hair-
A stranger, like the Palm-tree there.
And slowly, sadly, moved his plumes,
Glittering athwart the leafy glooms :
He passed the pale green olives by,
Nor won the chestnut-flowers his eye ;
But when to that sole Palm he came,
Then shot a rapture through his frame!
To him, to him, its rustling spoke,
The silence of his soul it broke !
It whispered of its own bright isle,
That lit the ocean with a smile;
Aye, to this ear that native tone
Had something of the sea-wave's moan!
His mother's cabin home, that lay
Where feathery cocoas fringed the bay;
The dashing of his brethren's oar,
The conch-note heard along the shore;
All through his wakening bosom swept :
He clasped his country's Tree and wept !
Oh! scorn him not !—the strength, whereby
The patriot girds himself to die,
The unconquerable power, which fills
The freeman battling on his hills,
These have one fountain deep and clear
The same whence gushed that child-like tear!

WILLIAM PENN, NATHAN, AND THE BAILIFF.

As well as I can recollect,
It is a story of famed William Penn,
By bailiffs oft beset without effect,
Like numbers of our lords and gentlemen.

William had got a private hole to spy
The folk who oft with writs, or “How d’ye do ?”
Possessing too a penetrating eye,
Friends from his foes the Quaker quickly knew.
A Bailiff in disguise, one day,
Though not disguised to our friend Will,
Came to Will's

mansion compliments to pay,
Concealed the catchpole thought with wond'rous skill.
Boldly he knocked at William's door,
Dressed like a gentleman from top to toe,
Expecting quick admittance to be sure

But Will's servant, Nathan, with a straight haired head, Unto the window gravely stalked, not ran, -“ Master at home?"—the Bailiff sweetly said, “ Thou canst not speak to him," replied the man. • What!” said the Bailiff, “won't he see me then ?” “Nay,” snuffled Nathan, “ let it not thus strike thee, “ Know, verily, that William Penn “ Hath seen thee, but he doth not like thee."

no

DEATH OF ADAM. “ Ere noon, returning to his bower, I found Our father labouring in his harvest ground (For yet he tilled a little plot of soil, Patient and pleased with voluntary toil ;) But O how changed from him, whose morning eye Outshone the star, that told the sun was nigh! Loose in his feeble grasp the sickle shook; I marked the ghastly dolour of his look, And ran to help him ; but his latest strength Failed ;-prone upon his sheaves he fell at length: I strove to raise him ; sight and sense were fled, Nerveless his limbs, and backward swayed his head.

Seth passed; I called him, and we bore our Sire
To neighbouring shades from noon's afflictive fire :
Ere long he 'woke to feeling, with a sigh,
And half unclosed his hesitating eye;
Strangely and timidly he peered around,
Like men in dreams whom sudden lights confound :

“ Is this a new Creation ?-Have I passed
The bitterness of death ?”—He looked aghast,
Then sorrowful!“ No; men and trees appear ;
'Tis not a new Creation-pain is here :
From Sin's dominion is there no release?
Lord ; let thy servant now depart in peace."

-Hurried remembrance crowding over his soul,
He knew us; tears of consternation stole
Down his pale cheeks :-"Seth!-Enoch! Where is

Eve ?
How could the spouse her dying consort leave ?"

“Eve looked that moment from their cottage-door
In quest of Adam, where he toiled before;
He was not there ; she called him by his name;
Sweet to his ear the well-known accents came;

Here am I,' answered he, in tone so weak,
That we who held him scarcely heard him speak;
But, resolutely bent to rise, in vain
He struggled till he swooned away with pain.
Eve called again, and turning towards the shade,
Helpless as infancy, beheld him laid ;
She sprang, as smitten with a mortal wound,
Forward, and cast herself upon the ground
At Adam's feet; half rising in despair,
Him from our arms she wildly strove to tear;
Repelled by gentle violence, she pressed
His powerless hand to her convulsive breast,
And kneeling, bending o'er him, full of fears,
Warm on his bosom showered her silent tears.
Light to his eyes at that refreshment came,
They opened on her in a transient flame;

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