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Death holds not long unchanged his fairest guest. Come near ! and bear the mortal to his rest!
His voice of mirth hath ceased
At the gay bridal-feast !
Yet mourn ye not as they
His birthright's hope away!
THE TREASURES OF THE DEEP. *
What hidest thou in thy treasure caves and cells,
Thou hollow-sounding and mysterious main ? Pale glistening pearls, and rainbow-colour'd shells Bright things which gleam unreck'd of, and in
vain. Keep, keep thy riches, melancholy sea !
We ask not such from thee.
Yet more, the depths have more ! What wealth
untold, Far down, and shining through their stillness lies! Thou hast the starry gems, the burning gold,
Won from ten thousand royal Argosies.Sweep o'er thy spoils, thou wild and wrathful main !
Earth claims not these again.
Yet more, the depths have more! Thy waves have
roll'd Above the cities of a world gone by! Sand hath fill'd up the palaces of old,
Sea-weed o'ergrown the halls of revelry.
Dash o'er them, ocean ! in thy scornful play:
Man yields them to decay.
Yet more! the billows and the depths have more !
High hearts and brave are gather'd to thy breast ! They hear not now the booming waters roar,
The battle-thunders will not break their rest.Keep thy red gold and gems, thou stormy grave!
Give back the true and brave !
Give back the lost and lovely!—those for whom
The place was kept at board and hearth so long, The prayer went up through midnight's breathless
gloom, And the vain yearning woke midst festal song ! Hold fast thy buried isles, thy towers o'erthrown
But all is not thine own.
To thee the love of woman hath gone down,
Dark flow thy tides o’er manhood's noble head, O’er youth's bright locks, and beauty's flowery crown:
Yet must thou hear a voice-Restore the dead ! Earth shall reclaim her precious things from thee !
Restore the dead, thou sea !
Bring flowers, young flowers, for the festal board,
And the touch of the sunbeam hath waked the rose, To deck the hall where the bright wine flows.
Bring flowers to strew in the conqueror's path!
Bring flowers to the captive's lonely cell !
wild flowers !
Bring flowers, fresh flowers, for the bride to wear!
Bring flowers, pale flowers, o'er the bier to shed,
THE CRUSADER'S RETURN.
“Alas! the mother that him bare,
REST, pilgrim, rest! Thou’rt from the Syrian land,
Thou’rt from the wild and wondrous East, I know By the long-wither'd palm-branch in thy hand,
And by the darkness of thy sunburnt brow. Alas! the bright, the beautiful, who part
So full of hope, for that far country's bourne ! Alas! the weary and the changed in heart,
And dimm'd in aspect, who like thee return !
Thou’rt faint-stay, rest thee from thy toils at last Through the high chestnuts lightly plays the
breeze, The stars gleam out, the Ave hour is past,
The sailor's hymn hath died along the seas. Thou'rt faint and worn-hear'st thou the fountain
welling By the grey pillars of yon ruin'd shrine ?