POFTIC SKETCHES.

* Glad meetings, tender partings, which upstay The drooping mind of absence."

"May never was the month of love,

For May is full of flowers; 'Tis rather April, wet by kind,

For love is full of showers."

THE palms flung down their shadow, and the air
Was rich with breathings of the citron bloom;
All the so radiant children of the south,
The gold and silver jessamines, the rose
In crimson glory there were gathered-sounds
Of music too from waterfalls, the hymn

By bees sung to the sweet flowers as they fed;
The earth seemed in its infancy, the sky,
The fair blue sky, was glowing as the hopes
Of childish happiness; it was a land
Of blossoming and sunshine.-One is here,
To whom the earth is colourless, the heaven
Clouded and cold; his heart is far away:
The palms have not to him the majesty

Of his own land's green oaks, the loses here
Are not so sweet as those wild ones that grow
In his own valley: he would rather have
One pale blue violet than all the buds
That Indian suns have kist; his heart is full
Of gentle recollections, and those thoughts
Which can but hold communion with themselves,
The heart's best dreaming. When the wanderer
Cails up those tender memories which are
So precious to absence, those dear links
That distance cannot sunder-come there not
Such visionings, young Evelin, o'er thy soul?
The dwelling of thy childhood, the dark hill
Above thy native valley, down whose side,
Like a swift arrow, shot the foaming stream,
The music of the iark, which every morn
Waked thy light slumber, and a fairy shape,
Whose starry eyes are far too bright for tears,
Tho' tears are in them, and whose coral lip
Wears still its spring-day smile? Attho’• Farewell,’
That saddest of sad sounds, is lingering there,
Are not these present to thee? ... Evelin was
A so dier, and he left his home with all
The high romance of youth. Beloved, and well
His heart repaid that love; but there were clouds,
Low worldly clouds, upon affection's star :
He sought to clear them-what was toil, that led
To fame, to fortune, and Elizabeth !---

There's music in that bow'r, where the wild rose Has clung about the ash,-such plaining tones As the winds waken there a harp is breathing, And o'er it leans its mistress, as she lived Upon those melancholy sounds: her head Is bent, as if in pain, upon those strings, And the gold shadows of her long hair veil The white hand which almost unconsciously In melody is wandering; that fair hand Is not more snowy than the cheek it presses ; That cheek does tell the history of the heartTells, that across the bright May hours of youth Bleak clouds have past, and left behind a trace 81 ATHENEUM VOL. 11.

Bordering on sadness, but withalso sweet

You scarce might call it sorrow; and that smile
But speaks of patient mild endurance, soft
And kind and gentle thoughts, which well become
A breaking heart, whose throbs will soon be still
In the soonely but so quiet grave,

Yes, she was dying! tho' so young.so fair,
Her days were number'd: and if e'er her cheek
Wore the rich colour it once had, 'twas but
The sad and lovely herald of decay,
The death rose, that but blossoms on the tomb.
Her's was a heart which, when it once had loved,
Could but ill brook the many trembling fears
That absent love must know :-her fate was like
A star, o'er which the clouds steal one by one,
Scarce seen, scarce noticed, still the sweet light's
gone.....

She is within his arms, and they have met, Evelin and his Elizabeth! a flush

Of beautiful delight is on her face;

He clasped her silently, and his dark eye

Is filled with tears. Ah, tears like these are worth
A life of smiles,-at length he gently said
"Elizabeth, my own love !"—it was heaven
To think that she again could hear him breathe
That dear, dear name, she answered not, but lay
Upon his bosom motionless. He looked
On her sweet face-'twas fixed and pale in death!
L. E. L.

POETIC SKETCHES.

SKETCH IL.

"Oh, Power of love! so fearful, yet so fair! Life of our life on earth, yet kin to care!"

...

It lay mid trees, a little quiet nest
Like to the stock dove's, and the honeysuckle
Spread o'er the cottage roof, while the red rose
Grew round the casement, where the thick-leaved
vine

Wove a luxuriant curtain, with a wreath,
A bridal wreath of silver jessamine ;—
A soft turf lay before the door, o'erhung
With a huge walnut-tree's green canopy,
Encircled round with flowers; and, like a queen
Of the young roses, stood a bright-cheeked Girl,
With smile of Summer and with lips of Spring,
A shape of air and footsteps of the wind,
She looked all hope and gladness: but her eyes,
Her deep blue eyes, which seemed as they did owe
Their tints to the first vi'let April brings,
Had yet sad meanings in them! 'twas not grief,
But as a presage of some ill to come.-

She stood upon the turf, while round her flew
Ber bright-hued pigeons, feeding from her hand;
And still she threw fresh flowers upon the cage.
Where two white doves were cooing; and then ran
Light as the rose leaves falling, to her Sire,
To greet him, and to give a kind Good morrow.→
A blossom full of promise is Life's Jay,
That never comes to fruit; hope for a time
Suns the young floweret in its gladsome light,
And it looks flourishing—a little while

'Tis past, we knew not whither, but 'tis gone---
Some canker has consumed it, or some blight
Has nipt it unawares, some worm has preyed
Upon its life, or else some unkind blast

Has torn it from the stem; and those who loved,
Who fondly cultured it, are left to weep
Over the ruins of their cherished flower.-

I passed by that sweet cottage; it was changed;
The rose trees were all dead, the unpruned vine
Was trailing on the ground, the thick-grown weeds
Gave signs of desolation; one poor dove
Sat by a broken easement, while her wail
Was echo'd mournfully from the lone roof-
Love, Oh fond Love! betraying, beautiful,
How can we trust the hope of life to thee?
Is it not building on the sands? Fair girl,—
It was the darkness of thy destiny!
She loved one all unworthy of her love.
Alas, that still devoted confidence
Should lead but unto ruin! He beguil'd
Her steps from home and happiness; and when
She trusted but to him, his heart no more
Answered the beat of her's--then he could leave
The fond deceived one lone and desolate !
She turned her to her Father whom she left,
And knelt, and pray'd forgiveness: he might not
Look on her pale cheek, thin and wasted form,
And not weep o'er her kind and pardoning tears.
Her heart was broken--and familiar scenes
Of happier days and childhood brought no charm
To one whose hope was past away-She died.

TO L. E. L.

L.E. L.

On his or her Poetic Sketches in the Literary

Gazette.

To me there's more of Minstrel stealth
In thy brief overflowings

of fancy-more of Thought's best wealth,-
And Feeling's sweetest glowings ;—
Than I can find in many a tome,
O'er which, from page to page, I roam.

Such gentle music may pass by
The cold, or careless hearer :-
Tome is witching melody

Is, from its softness, dearer:
Its gushing forth, its dying fall,
Surpass the notes of Nourmahal.

I know not who, or what thou art;
Nor do I seek to know thee,
While Thou, performing thus thy part,
Such banquets canst bestow me.
Then be, as long as thou shalt list,
My viewless, nameless Melodist.

BERNARD BARTON,

THE PRISONERS OF MOUNT ST.
MICHAEL.

Mount St. Michael, in Normandy, is sur rounded by a quicksand, and bears upon its summit an abbey within a fortress, which is still a secret state-prison.

Linger, brief winter-sun, awhile,

On the lonely peak of St. Michael's pile! .
For never where Bourbon's gardens smile
Have happier slaves or wiser met ;—
These sands that circle our prison-tower,

Are they falser than those the courtier treads?
Yon thicket where wolves and bandits cower,—
Is it darker than those his treason spreads?
If Fame and Fortune are in our debt,
The world will reckon, let us forget.
Why should we fight with the angry wave,
When soon it will waft us safe to shore ?
Ourship from the rock we could not save,
But we feel the blow of that rock no more:
We are still the same gay gallant crew

That joyous fellowship held on board,
When the blandest breezes of summer blew,
And the riches of hope were with us stored-
Let them who scattered the precious freight
The wreck remember,-but we'll forget.
Is this a prison ?-'tis but a home
Where Fate has lodged us without a care:
The wretch who toils for a gilded dome,
Will sleep less sweetly and safely there.
Shall we deplore the dreary void,

And see the last of Life's roses fall?
They are not lost that have been enjoy'd ;—

We know we have gather'd and worn them all.
Life's evening dew may one rose-leaf wet,
Then let us the coming night forget.

Or let us like Persia's proudest kings
Welcome this dark eve of the year?--
It is the last,—and of earthly things
Ever the last should be most dear.
There is no sadness in the thought
That our last hour is arriving here;
For of all the blisses our souls have caught,
The latest moment was always near;
And to know the loveliest sun would set,
Made us its spots and its clouds forget.

Oh! when we look on the friends that live,

And think how early their light may close,

Shall we not every shade for give,

And bless the shunshine that round them glows!

It is the last,--for though days return,

The touch of that glow will return no more; We may new joys from new moments learn, But never the same we have felt before:We may tread on the spot where first me met, But shall we not wish we could forget?

Lovely Garonne !—in the deep blue sky,

When the moon bends down as if fond of earth, I shape, while her snow-white clouds roll by, The hills of the land that gave me birth: And her floating light is like the joy

That over my youth's sweet stillness spread,-The meek pure love of a mother's eye

On hours of loneliness brighter shed:
Only that soft light lingers yet,
While all in the thankless world forget.

THE POET'S LOT.

It is to cherish in the heart

Feelings the warmest, kindest, best; To wish their essence to impart

To every breast:

"The Exceptions prove the Truth of the Rule." Old Proverb.

Askest Thou what it is to be

A Poet?-I will tell thee what ; And candidly unfold to Thee

His weary lot.

It is to sacrifice each good

That Fortune's favour'd minions share; And, in unheeded solitude,

Her frowns to bear.

It is to nourish hopes that cheat;

Which, when he felt them first beat high, Appear'd so humble, blameless, sweet, They could not die.

It is to feel foreboding fears;

Then-think them half unfounded too,And last, with pangs too deep for tears, To own them true!

Others from his warm breast!-but 0! Unlike that Bird-the Bard may bleed, And wake no glow.

It is to pamper vicious taste,

By spurning Virtue's strict control; Then be with Fame, and Riches grac'd, And damn his soul!

Or, while his humbler verse defends

Her cause, her loveliness pourtrays; To win from her apparent Friends Cold,cautious Praise.

It is a thorny path to tread,

By care, by sorrow over-cast; With but one thought its balm to shed, “This cannot last!"

For soon that thorny path is trod;

From Man he has no more to crave :Grant him Thy Mercy-Gracious God! Thou Earth-a Grave!

THE WINTER FLOWER.

THERE was a pale and shrinking flower,
Which blossom'd in a wintry hour,
When every bud of brighter bloom,
Had met with an autumnal doom:
It burst beneath a freezing sky,
Open'd, to wither and to die;
All faintly bright, and dimly fair,
It courted the inclement air;
And pour'd a dying fragrance round,
Then shed its frail leaves on the ground.

Even so, I saw misfortune's child,
Amid a blast as bleak and wild,
Tender as that forsaken flower,
And shivering in a stormy hour;
No parent on whose faithful breast,
The little head might lie at rest,
With none to wipe the infant tear,
Give the caress, and call it dear;
Without a single hand to save
Its victim from a timeless grave.
I saw it bloom, I saw it fade,
And weeping gave my childish aid;
In vain-its ruddy cheek grew pale,
It could not bear the wintry gale;
It faded each succeeding day
Carried some lingering hope away,
Till low it laid its little head,
And like that wan flower perished.
Yet tho' I shed the frequent tear
Over its young and timeless bier,

With gentler grief I now deplore,
For all its infant woes are o'er,
And 'neath this soft and grassy mound,
While summer flowrets spring around,
Peace shall her silent vigil keep,
And guard the infant's quiet sleep,
Till rais'd to bloom a fadeless flower
Within heaven's calm and blissful bower.

THE MARINER OF LIFE.

WHEN the young mariner of life
First launches on its stormy sea,
Amid that hurricane of strife,

O God! his refuge is in Thee.
His eager spirits fear no shock,

First rushing on those untried seas, He does not see the fatal rock,

Which stands to wreck his future peace. But when by swift winds borne along, It bursts upon his troubled view, In Thee, alone, he then is strong,

'Tis then he finds Thy promise true. Secure in trust-secure in faith, Temptation shall assail in vain, And christian courage, strong as death, The glorious warfare shall maintain. In vain shall passion's billows rage,

A tempest in the struggling soul Thy word that tempest can assuage, The spirit owns Thy blest control.

O Father! spread thy guardian arm, Around the guileless breast of youth, With life's first generous feeling warm, Oh! stamp it with Thy heavenly truth.

That when these trying scenes depart, Unspotted he may turn to Thee, And innocent in lips and heart, Adore Thee thro' Eternity.

CAN WAR OF INDEPENDENCE.

WHAT shall I say of you, harmless

natives of the island of Nantucket, whose mild and beneficent creed had instructed you to shun individual strife, and to shudder at the calamities of a warfare in which you were never actively engaged? Would that I could have softened efficaciously those which befel you, at a time when the only of fering I could make you, was to console you, and to share your griefs! We were sailing up Delaware Bay, when a vessel was descried a-head, making towards us as if we had been "friends." When within reach of gunshot, she obeyed the signal and lowered her sails. She was boarded; but scarcely had the officer, with his boat's crew, taken possession, when the frigate struck on the Brandywine shoal. The utmost consternation prevailed on board; the water was started from the butts of the upper tier; other means were resorted to, to lighten her and lessen her draught, to the end that, by backing the sails, she might free the shoal; it was even proposed to throw overboard the guns. In this extremity, the boat's crew had been sent back to the frigate, where their presence was required, the officer remaining on board the prize, the Raven schooner of Nantucket. It should here be observed, that the inhabitants of that island belonged exclusively to the society of Friends more commonly called Quakers. Jenkins, the master, raised the officer in his arms, and held him up as if he had been an infant :-"Friend," said he, "I have only to throw thee overboard, and return to Philadelphia; but I will go on board the frigate, and act the part of a friend, by using my best endeavours to free her of her peril." His offer was cheerfully accepted; and, by his help and intelligence,

wise have been accomplished; the fri

gate once more floated in deep water.

Friend Jenkins was a man of athletic make; but mild and gentle in his deportment. The feats of strength he displayed on board of the frigate, enti tled him to a place in the foremost rank of those whose surprising muscular powers have acquired them celebrity. Coffin, the mate, possessed a vigorous mind, and of the two, was the most interesting. Without money in his pocket, he had landed at Boston, in his early youth, and penetrating into the inte rior, had spent several years among the Indian tribes of both Americas, studying their manners and conforming himself to their usages. He had visited the greater portion of these tribes; and his details respecting them, and what he had seen besides, were a constant fund of entertainment to us, while he was pining inwardly with grief. It is related of the original Harlequin of the French scene, that, having become hypocondriacal, he consulted a physician, not of his acquaintance, who recommended to him to repair to the theatre, and see Carolan. "I am,” said he," the Carolan by whom all Paris is amused, and who am myself consuming with melancholy." Thus it was with friend Coffin, who still wore an air of tranquil content, while he stifled his sorrows in the efforts he made to contribute to our amusement. Estranged from the comforts and conveniences of a civilized state, by the erratic life he had led among savage hordes, custom had made him as hardy as a Bedouin-Arab: his bed was a sack filled with straw, in which, laid on the planks, he buried himself to the chin.

The small island of Nantucket, lying in the vicinity of Rhode-Island, is too barren to grow corn; its peaceful and industrious inhabitants are there

fore obliged to procure elsewhere the prime necessary of life, by bartering against it the produce of their coasts. The schooner had taken to Philadelphia a cargo of dried fish, and was returning with a lading of flour. So little did friend Jenkins, in his simplicity, suspect that we should detain him, on learning his errand, and the necessities of his fellow-islanders, by which it had been prompted, that he had persuaded himself that he had merely to relate the artless tale, to be allowed to proceed. He did not dilate on the particular service he had rendered us, however he might be sensible that, but for him, our best accommodation might have been sought within the narrow limits of our boats. "The flour," he said, "can be conveniently stowed in the frigate; let it be taken out, and permit me and my crew to return to Nantucket, with a paper addressed to the vessels of your nation we may chance to fall in with in our way. The schooner is old and crazy; she will not tempt them, and will fetch but little at New York; while the advantage, for which we shall ever be thankful, will to us be great." A humane feeling, not to speak of gratitude for a benefit received, might have yielded to this suggestion; a portion, at least, of the cargo might have been generously added to the boon; and the schooner might have been reckoned among the worthless craft directed to be scuttled or burnt; but the barbarous usage of war ordered it otherwise. She had sailed from an island, the inhabitants of which professed, it is true, to be in amity with all mankind, but whose position brought them into a more strict relation with those who were hostile to us; she had carried a supply to an enemy's port, and was to be delivered over to the court of Vice-Admiralty on our arrival at New-York. Our stay there was short; but, on our return from the next cruize, we anxiously has tened on shore, to inquire after our "friends," and the captive crew. Men of Nantucket! honest Quakers! it was in vain that you assembled daily on the beach, to watch the approach of your companions, with the promised And you, wives, children,

-succour.

CAL EXPERIMENTS.

Partial flashes of lightning, Aurora Borea

lis, &c. are to be beautifully exhibited, by taking in a spoon about a drachm of the pow der or seeds of hycopodium, and th owing it against a candle, all other light being excluded. Powder resin is equally fit for the purpose, but from its adhesive quality sticks to the hand or any thing on which it may fall. A very entertaining sort of coruscation of light is obtained by the use of phosphorised line. When a small quantity (20 or 30 grains) is thrown into a glass of water, bubbles of gas are successively extracted from it, which, rising to the surface of the water,

are inflamed on coming in contact with the air of the atmosphere, producing a flash of bright light. And as a succession of such time, a repetition of such flashes will be bubbles is produced, during a considerable

seen.

A letter from the Hague relates the fol

lowing instance of animal sagacity, hardly Dog of Montargis :- An individual driving a degree behind the famous story of the his cabriolet in the environs of that city, having approached a lonely farm-house, was arrested by the piercing cries of a child. He hastily alighted, and sought to discover their cause; about three years of age, bathed in tears, when a little girl and accompanied by a dog, presented her self before him. No other living creature

could be seen in the house: the stranger called, but no answer was returned; and

after a vain search, he took the helpless infant along with him, and drove to the nearest tavern, followed by the dog. Entering the common room, he observed two ill-looking characters in a corner together, one of whom, not aware of committing himself with a stranger, said to his fellow, "That,