None, none !-his treasures live like thine,
He strives and dies like thee;
-Thou, that hast been to the pearl's dark shrine,
O wrestler with the sea!
LEAVE me not yet-through rosy skies from far,
But now the song-birds to their nests return;
The quivering image of the first pale star
On the dim lake scarce yet begins to burn:
Not yet! oh, hark! low tones from hidden streams, Piercing the shivery leaves, even now arise; Their voices mingle not with daylight dreams, They are of vesper's hymns and harmonies: Leave me not yet!
My thoughts are like those gentle sounds, dear love!
By day shut up in their own still recess, They wait for dews on earth, for stars above,
Then to breathe out their soul of tenderness:
ALL night the booming minute-gun,
Had peal'd along the deep,
And mournfully the rising sun
Look'd o'er the tide-worn steep.
A barque from India's coral strand,
Before the raging blast,
Had veil'd her topsails to the sand,
And bow'd her noble mast.
The queenly ship!-brave hearts had striven, And true ones died with her!—
We saw her mighty cable riven,
Like floating gossamer.
We saw her proud flag struck that morn,
A star once o'er the seas-
Her anchor gone, her deck uptorn-
And sadder things than these!
We saw her treasures cast away,-
The rocks with pearls were sown,
And strangely sad, the ruby's ray
Flash'd out o'er fretted stone.
And gold was strewn the wet sands o'er,
Like ashes by a breeze;
And gorgeous robes-but oh! that shore
Had sadder things than these!
We saw the strong man still and low,
A crush'd reed thrown aside;
Yet, by that rigid lip and brow,
Not without strife he died.
And near him on the sea-weed lay-
Till then we had not wept-
But well our gushing hearts might say
That there a mother slept!
For her pale arms a babe had press'd
With such a wreathing grasp,
Billows had dash'd o'er that fond breast,
Yet not undone the clasp.
Her very tresses had been flung
To wrap the fair child's form, Where still their wet long streamers hung All tangled by the storm.
And beautiful, 'midst that wild scene,
Gleam'd up the boy's dead face
Like slumber's, trustingly serene,
In melancholy grace.
Deep in her bosom lay his head,
With half-shut violet eye-
He had known little of her dread,
Naught of her agony!
Oh! human love, whose yearning heart
Through all things vainly true,
So stamps upon the mortal part
Its passionate adieu-
Surely thou hast another lot:
There is some home for thee,
Where thou shalt rest, rememb'ring not
The moaning of the sea!
OH! уe voices gone,
Sounds of other years,
Hush that haunting tone,
Melt me not to tears!
All around forget,
All who love you well,
Yet, sweet voices, yet
O'er my soul ye swell.
With the winds of spring,
With the breath of flowers,
Floating back, ye bring
Thoughts of vanish'd hours
Hence your music take,
Oh! ye voices gone.
This lone heart ye make
But more deeply lone.
LIKE THEE TO DIE, THOU SUN!-My boyhood's dream
Was this; and now my spirit, with thy beam,
Ebbs from a field of victory !—yet the hour
Bears back upon me, with a torrent's power,
Nature's deep longings:-Oh! for some kind eye,
Wherein to meet love's fervent farewell gaze ;
Some breast to pillow life's last agony,
Some voice, to speak of hope and brighter days,
Beyond the pass of shadows!-But I go,
I, that have been so loved, go hence alone;
And ye, now gathering round my own hearth's
glow,
Sweet friends! it may be that a softer tone,
Even in this moment, with your laughing glee,
Mingles its cadence while you speak of me:
Of me, your soldier, 'midst the mountains lying,
On the red banner of his battles dying,
Far, far away!-and oh! your parting prayer-
Will not his name be fondly murmur'd there?
It will!-A blessing on that holy hearth!
Though clouds are darkening to o'ercast its
mirth.
Mother! I may not hear thy voice again;
Sisters! ye watch to greet my step in vain;
Young brother, fare thee well!-on each dear
Blessing and love a thousand fold be shed,
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