Then fancy her magical pinions spread wide, And bade the young dreamer in ecstacy rise;Now far, far behind him, the green waters glide, And the cot of his forefathers blesses his eyes.

The jessamin clambers in flowers o'er the thatch, And the swallow chirps sweet from her nest in the wall;

All trembling with transport, he raises the latch, And the voices of loved ones reply to his call.

A father bends o'er him with looks of delight;
His cheek is impearled with a mother's warm tear;
And the lips of the boy in a love-kiss unite

With the lips of the maid whom his bosom holds dear.

The heart of the sleeper beats high in his breast, Joy quickens his pulses, his hardships seem o'er: And a murmur of happiness steals through his rest— O God! thou hast blessed me; I ask for no more."

66

Ah! whence is that flame which now bursts on his eye?

Ah! what is that sound which now larums his ear? 'Tis the lightning's red glare, painting hell on the sky! 'Tis the crushing of thunders, the groan of the sphere !

He springs from his hammoc-he flies to the deckAmazement confronts him with images direWild winds and mad waves drive the vessel awreckThe masts fly in splinters-the shrouds ar

fire!

are

on

Like mountains the billows tremendously swell:
In vain the lost wretch calls on mercy to save;
Unseen hands of spirits are ringing his knell,
And the death-angel flaps his broad wing o'er the
wave!

O sailor boy! wo to thy dream of delight!

In darkness dissolves the gay frost-work of bliss. Where now is the picture that fancy touched bright, Thy parents' fond pressure, and love's honied kiss?

O sailor boy! sailor boy! never again

Shall home, love, or kindred, thy wishes repay; Unblessed, and unhonoured, down deep in the main Full many a score fathom, thy frame shall decay. No tomb shall e'er plead to remembrance for thee,

Or redeem form or fame from the merciless surge; But the white foam of waves shall thy winding-sheet be,

And winds, in the midnight of winter, thy dirge! On a bed of green sea-flower thy limbs shall be laid; Around thy white bones the red coral shall grow; Of thy fair yellow locks threads of amber be made, And every part suit to thy mansion below.

Days, months, years, and ages, shall circle away,
And still the vast waters above thee shall roll;
Earth loses thy pattern for ever and aye:-
O sailor boy! sailor boy! peace to thy soul!

THE PLAYTHINGS.

OH! mother, here's the very top,

That brother used to spin;

The vase with seeds I've seen him drop
To call our robin in;

The line that held his pretty kite,
His bow, his cup and ball,

The slate on which he learned to write,
His feather, cap, and all!

"My dear, I'd put the things away
Just where they were before:
Go, Anna, take him out to play,
And shut the closet door.
Sweet innocent! he little thinks

The slightest thought expressed
Of him that's lost, how deep it sinks
Within a mother's breast!"

TO-MORROW.

TO-MORROW, didst thou say?
Methought I heard Horatio say, To-morrow.
Go to I will not hear of it-To-morrow!
'Tis a sharper, who stakes his penury

Against thy plenty-who takes thy ready cash,
And pays thee naught, but wishes, hopes, and prom-

ises,

The currency of idiots-injurious bankrupt,
That gulls the easy creditor!-To-morrow!
It is a period no where to be found

In all the hoary registers of Time,

Unless perchance in the fool's calendar.

Wisdom disclaims the word, nor holds society With those who own it. No, my Horatio, "Tis Fancy's child, and Folly is its father; Wrought of such stuff as dreams are, and as baseless As the fantastic visions of the evening.

But soft, my friend-arrest the present moment:

For be assured they all are arrant tell-tales:
And though their flight be silent, and their path
Trackless, as the winged couriers of the air,
They post to heaven, and there record thy folly.
Because, though stationed on th' important watch,
Thou, like a sleeping, faithless sentinel,
Didst let them pass unnoticed, unimproved.
And know, for that thou slumberest on the guard,
Thou shalt be made to answer at the bar
For every fugitive: and when thou thus
Shalt stand impleaded at the high tribunal
Of hood-winked Justice, who shall tell thy audit?
Then stay the present instant, dear Horatio,
Imprint the marks of wisdom on its wings.
'Tis of more worth than kingdoms! far more precious
Than all the crimson treasures of life's fountain.
O! let it not elude thy grasp; but, like

The good old patriarch* upon record,
Hold the fleet angel fast until he bless thee.

OSSIAN'S ADDRESS TO THE SUN.

O THOU that rollest above, round as the shield of my fathers! Whence are thy beams, O sun! thy everlasting light? Thou comest forth, in thy awful beauty, and the stars hide themselves in the sky; the moon, cold and pale, sinks in the western wave. But thou thyself movest alone: who can be a companion of thy course? The oaks of the mountains fall; the mountains themselves decay with years; the ocean shrinks and grows again;

* See Genesis, chap. xxxii. 24-30.

+ Ossian, an ancient Scotch, or Gælic poet, supposed to have flourished in the second century, and to have been the son of Fingal. His poems were translated by Mr. M'Pherson, in 1762.

the moon herself is lost in heaven; but thou art for ever the same, rejoicing in the brightness of thy

course.

When the world is dark with tempests; when thunder rolls, and lightning flies; thou lookest in thy beauty, from the clouds, and laughest at the storm. But to Ossian, thou lookest in vain; for he beholds thy beams no more; whether thy yellow hair flows on the eastern clouds, or thou tremblest at the gates of the west. But thou art perhaps, like me, for a season, and thy years will have an end. Thou shalt sleep in thy clouds, careless of the voice of the morning.

Exult then, O sun, in the strength of thy youth! Age is dark and unlovely; it is like the glimmering light of the moon, when it shines through broken clouds, and the mist is on the hills; the blast of the north is on the plain, the traveller shrinks in the midst of his journey.

THE SNOW-FLAKE.

"Now, if I fall, will it be my lot
To be cast in some lone, and lowly spot,
To melt, and to sink, unseen, or forgot?
And there will my course be ended ?"
'Twas this a feathery Snow-Flake said,
As down through measureless space it strayed,
Or, as half by dalliance, half afraid,

It seemed in mid air suspended.

"Oh! no," said the Earth, "thou shalt not lie Neglected and lone on my lap to die,

Thou pure and delicate child of the sky!