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For her pale arms a hahe had pressed

With such a wreathing grasp,
Billows had dashed o'er that fond hreast,

Yet not undone the clasp!
Her very tresses had heen flung
To wrap the fair child's form,
Where still their wet, long streamers clung,

All tangled hy the storm.

And heautiful, 'midst that wild scene,
Gleamed up the hoy's dead face;

Like slumhers, trustingly serene,
In melancholy grace.

Deep in her hosom lay his head,

With half-shut violet eye;—
He had known little of her dread,

Nought of her agony!

Oh, human love! whose yearning heart

Through all things vainly true,
So stamps upon thy mortal part,

Its passionate adien!
Surely thou hast another lot,

There is some home for thee,
Where thou shalt rest, rememhering not

The moaning of the sea!

AN EVENING WALK BY THE SEA SIDE.

'Tis pleasant to wander along on the sand

Beneath the high cliff that is hollowed in caves;

When the fisher has put off his hoat from the land,

And the prawn-catcher wades thro' the short rippling waves.

While fast run hefore us the sandling and plover,
Intent on the crahs and the sand-eels to feed,
And here on a rock which the tide will soon cover,
We'll find us a seat that is tapestried with weed.

Bright gleam the white sails in the slant rays of even,
And stud as with silver the hroad level main,
While glowing clouds float on the fair face of Heaven,
And the mirror-like water reflects them again.

How various the shades of marine vegetation,
Thrown here the rough flints and the pehhles among,
The feather'd conferva of deepest carnation,
The dark purple slake and the olive sea-thong.

While Flora herself uureluctantly mingles
Her garlands with those that the Nereids have worn,
For the yellow-horned poppy springs up on the shingles,
And convolvulas rival the rays of the morn.

But now to retire from the rock we have warning,
Already the water encircles our seat,
And slowly the tide of the evening returning,
The moonheams reflect in the waves at our feet.

Ah! whether as now the mild Summer-sea flowing,
Scarce wrinkles the sands as it murmurs on shore,
Or fierce win try-whirl winds impetuously hlowing
Bid high maddening surges resistlessly roar;

That Power, which can put the wide waters in motion,

Then hid the vast hillows repose at His word;

Fills the mind with deep reverence, while Earth, Air, and Octau,

Alike of the Universe speak Him the Lord.

A REFLECTION AT SEA.

MOOre.

See, how heneath the moonheams' smile Yon little hillow heaves its hreast,

And foams and sparkles for a while, And murmuring then suhsides to rest.

Thus man, the sport of hliss and care, Rises on time's eventful sea;

And having swell'd a moment there, Thus melts into eternity!

MOUNTAINS.

THE CLIFFS OF DOVER.

MRS. heMAN5.

Rocks of my country I let the cloud
Your crested heights array;

And rise ye like a fortress proud,
Ahove the surge and spray!

My spirit greets you as ye stand,
Breasting the hillows' foam;

Oh, thus for ever guard the land,
The sever'd land of home!

1 have left sunny skies hehind
Lighting up classic shrines,

And music in the southern wind,
And sunshine on the vines.

The hreathings of the myrtle flowers
Have floated o'er my way,

The pilgrim's voice at vesper hours
Hath suoth'd me with its lay.

The isles of Greece, the hills of Spain,
The purple heavens of Rome-

Yes, all are glorious; yet again
I hless thee, land of home!

For thine the Sahhath peace, my land;

And thine the guarded hearth; And thine the dead, the nohle hand

That make thee holy earth.

Their voices meet me in the hreeze;

Their steps are on thy plains; Their names hy old majestic trees,

Are whispered round thy fanes:—

Their hlood hath mingled with the tide

Of thine exulting sea;— Oh, he it still a joy, a pride,

To live and die for thee I

THE LONELY GRANDEUR OF
MOUNTAIN SCENERY.

ANON.

No sounds of worldly toil ascending there,
Mar the full hurst of prayer:
K

Lone Nature fieeb that the may freely
hreathc;
And round :is and heneath,
Arc heard her sacred tones; the fitful sweep

Of winds across the steep,
Through withered hents—romantic note and
clear,
Meet for a hermit's ear,—

The wheeling kite's wild, solitary cry,

And, scarcely heard so high, The dashing waters, when the air is still,

From many a torrent rill, That winds unseen heneath the shaggy fell,

Track'd hy the hlue mist well: Such sounds as make deep silence in the heart,

For thought to do her part.

MONT BLANC.

Sire of the stormy Alps! majestic power! On whom the hattling winds tremendous

shower The fury of the heavens—hail, snow, and

rain; And lightning pours its arrowy fires in vain! Cold at thy feet, like sparkles on the wave, The thunderholt falls harmless; from the

grave Of Chaos first thy temples rose to light,

While the proud Pyrenees lay wrapt Id

night; Brilliant thy crest ahove the hillows wild Arose; and first the infant sunheam smil'd Warm on thy splendid hosom; still thy form Climhs like the warring Titan in the storm; And snows that hill and lowly valley drown, Exalt the splendour of thy glittering crown; Nohly it swells like foam upon the main, The hrightest pearl of all the splendid chain: A tumulus to some proud chieftain rais'd By warring demi-gods, the summit glaz'd With ice and frosted silver; when the gale Strips from its ivory hreast the misty veil, It seems all hright in renovated hloom, A sculptur'd Venus, springing from the tomh; The mammoth of the mountains! proudest

hark Amidst a snowy fleet; surviving ark, Ahove a deep and roaring deluge pil'd! Nature's pantheon! temple of the wild! In clouds serene, 'midst rocking earth secure; Cold as the vestal's hosom, and as pure. Drest in his silver rohes the monarch towers, And glitters in the moonheams; mellow

showers Of light descending on his glist'ning crest, Fall sweet as dew upon the lily's hreast; A nurse, whose paps those mighty floods

supply, That else would see their stony channels dry; A harrier plac'd hy heaven, a pathless mound, To guard sweet Italy's enchanted ground, And fence her gardens from the spoiler's

hands, And all the northern clime's ferocious hands.

THE ASCENT OF THE GREAT ST. BERNARD.

hUSENBETh.

Have ye dwelt in the land of the hrave and the free!

Have ye liv'd in the keen mountain air?
Have ye lov'd the steep rock and the torrent to see,

Or to view ihe rough Alpine chasseur?

Have ye climh'd the high mountain, and trod the deep snow?

Have ye wander'd with joy o'er the plain?
Or look'd down on the foam of the waters helow,

With delight softly mingled with pain?

If Helvetia has seen you amid her wild scenes,

Feel the pleasure that knows no alloy;
And her hills and dark forests, her rocks and ravines,

Have transported your senses with joy :—

Then hasten with me to those scenes once again,

We will clamher together the steep; We will tread the rude path, and look down on the glen,

Where the torrent rolls rapid and deep.

The hright sunheams are glancing amid the high trees,

And the forest has lost half its gloom; O how sweet is the hreath of the fresh mountain-hreeze,

And the sight of the valley in hloom!

Now winds the rough road o'er the rude one-arch'd hridge,

Where the torrent rolls foaming helow;
And St. Bernard far towering ahove the high ridge,

Lifts his hoary old summit of snow.

Can the wand'rer advance without feelings of dread,

'Mid the scenes that now crowd on* his sight; While the menacing cliffs hend and frown o'er his head,

And the cataract pours on his right:—

Where the pines of the forest are stanted and sere,

And the rugged road seldom is traced; Where the rocks are all harren, the mountain all drear,

And the valley all desert and waste:—

Where no mnsic is heard hut the shrill Alpine hlast,

And the roar of the cataract's fall,
And the howl of the wolf for his savage repast,

And the echo that answers to all?

In a desert like this well might Piety's hand

Plant aloft the hright Sign of our faith;
For the Cross shall yet hallow this desolate land,

And yet cheer the worn wanderer's path.

But the snows gather round, and the sun has long ceas'd

To enliven the comfortless day;
And the mist on the mountain's high top is increas'd

And half-choked is the torrent's rough way.

See! the avalanche has fallen—it lies far and wide;

And how frightful the ruin it made,—
For it swept down in thunder the forest's high pride,

And the rock-crag how prostrate it laid I

And it roll'd on relentless, and huried the cot,
Which had shelter'd the poor mountaineer;

Nor has left tv kind Pity a trace of the spot,

Where the suow might dissolve with her tear-
But the pine trees it shiver'd lie low in its wreck,

And the crags it hrought down in its fall;

Attempted in vain the wild torrent to check,

For it foam'd and hroke uver them all.

It is past; hut the scene is more frightful and drear t

Not a pine rises over the suow,
Not a point of the gray granite rock can appear

Not a floweret can flourish helow.

And the traveller advances with caution and dread,

In his duhious and desolate way;
For who knows hut the avalanche may hurst o'er his head,

Or the suow-cover'd gulf may hetray?

Yet more steep is the mountain, more rude is the hlast,

More keen, more henumhing the air;
Vegetation long since feehly hourgeon'd her last,

And around—all is death and despair.

Ev'n frozen and hush'd is the torrent's loud foam,

And the cascade is dashing no more';
The wild chamois alone will here venture to roam,

And the glacier yet dare to explore.

Every track is long lost of the steep narrow way,
And how dreadful, how thrilling to think,

That the traveller unknowing might fatally stray,
Where the suow hides tke precipice' hrink!

And his senses are numh'd hy the chill mountain air,

And a stupor invites to repose:
But resist, weary pilgrim! 'tis death lays the suare,

And would sink thee a grave in the suows.

Yet advance for a while, and the danger is past,

For St. Bernard's hleak summit is nigh,
Where, thos heats the dread tempest, and roars the rude hlast

His white front looks unhurt to the sky.

The high summit is gain'd, and fair Charity's hand,

Has invited the wanderer in :—

Who would hope she could dwell in this desolate land,

Where no creature, no comfort is seen? /

But the mountain's high summit no longer is drear,

By Religiod and Charity hlest;
Hospitality ventures to smile even here,

And to soothe the worn traveller to rest.

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