The sea has one, and Palestine has one,

And Scotland has the last. The snooded maid Shall gaze in wonder on the stranger's stone,

And wipe the dust off with her tartan plaidAnd from the lonely tomb where thou art laid, Turn to some other monument-nor know

Whose grave she passes, or whose name she read; Whose lov'd and honoured relics lie below; Whose is immortal joy, and whose is mortal wo.

There is a world of bliss hereafter-else
Why are the bad above, the good beneath
The green grass of the grave? The Mower fells
Flowers and briers alike. But man shall breathe
(When he his desolating blade shall sheathe
And rest him from his work) in a pure sky,

Above the smoke of burning worlds;—and Death
On scorched pinions with the dead shall lie,
When time, with all his years and centuries, has
passed by.

TO THE DEAD.

How

many now are dead to me

That live to others yet!

How many are alive to me

Who crumble in their graves, nor see That sick'ning, sinking look which we Till dead can ne'er forget.

One died in prison-far away,

Where stone on stone shut out the day,

And never hope, or comfort's ray

In his lone dungeon shone.

Dead to the world, alive to me;

Though months and years have pass'd,

In a lone hour, his sigh to me

Comes like the hum of some wild bee,

And then his form and face I see

As when I saw him last.

And one with a bright lip, and cheek,

How pale the bloom of his smooth cheek!
His lip was cold-it would not speak;
His heart was dead, for it did not break;
And his eye, for it did not see.

Then for the living be the tomb,
And for the dead the smile;
Engrave oblivion on the tomb

Of pulseless life and deadly bloom--
Dim is such glare: but bright the gloom
Around the funeral pile.

THE DEEP.

THERE's beauty in the deep :

The wave is bluer than the sky;

And though the lights shine bright on high,

More softly do the sea-gems glow
That sparkle in the depths below

The rainbow's tints are only made
When on the waters they are laid,

9

And Sun and Moon most sweetly shine

Upon the ocean's level brine.

There's beauty in the deep.

There's music in the deep :-
It is not in the surf's rough roar,
Nor in the whispering, shelly shore—
They are but earthly sounds, that tell
How little of the sea nymph's shell,
That sends its loud, clear note abroad,
Or winds its softness through the flood,
Echoes through groves with coral gay,
And dies, on spongy banks, away.
There's music in the deep.

There's quiet in the deep:-

Above, let tides and tempests rave,

And earth-born whirlwinds wake the wave;
Above, let care and fear contend,
With sin and sorrow to the end:

Here, far beneath the tainted foam,
That frets above our peaceful home,
We dream in joy, and wake in love,
Nor know the rage that yells above.

There's quiet in the deep.

THE GOOD SAMARITAN.

WHO bleeds in the desert, faint, naked, and torn,
Left lonely to wait for the coming of morn?

The last sigh from his breast, the last drop from his heart,

The last tear from his eyelid, seem ready to part.
He looks to the east with a death-swimming eye,
Once more the blest beams of the morning to spy;
For penniless, friendless, and houseless he's lying,
And he shudders to think, that in darkness he's dying.
Yon meteor!-'tis ended as soon as begun-
Yon gleam of the lightning! it is not the sun;
They brighten and pass-but the glory of day
Is warm while it shines, and does good on its way.

How brightly the morning breaks out from the east!
Who walks down the path to get tithes for his priest ?*
It is not the Robber who plundered and fled;
'Tis a Levite. He turns from the wretched his head.

*Numbers, xviii.