He cannot know what rocks and quicksands may Await him, on the future's shipless main; But, thank'd be memory! there are treasures still, Which the triumphant mind holds subject to its will.

XII. CUBA.

What sounds arouse me from my slumbers light? "Land ho! all hands ahoy!"—I'm on the deck. "Tis early dawn. The day-star yet is bright. A few white vapoury bars the zenith fleck. And lo! along the horizon, bold and high, The purple hills of Cuba! hail, all hail! Isle of undying verdure, with thy sky Of purest azure! Welcome, odorous gale! O! scene of life and joy! thou art array'd In hues of unimagined loveliness— Sing louder, brave old mariner! and aid My swelling heart its rapture to express; For from enchanted memory never more [shore! Shall fade this dawn sublime, this bright, celestial

THE DAYS THAT ARE PAST.

WE will not deplore them, the days that are past;
The gloom of misfortune is over them cast;
They are lengthen'd by sorrow and sullied by care;
Their griefs were too many, their joys were too rare;
Yet, now that their shadows are on us no more,
Let us welcome the prospect that brightens before!
We have cherish'd fair hopes, we have plotted
brave schemes,

We have lived till we find them illusive as dreams; Wealth has melted like snow that is grasp'd in the hand,

And the steps we have climb'd have departed like

sand;

Yet shall we despond while of health unbereft,
And honour, bright honour, and freedom are left?
O! shall we despond, while the pages of time
Yet open before us their records sublime! [gold,
While, ennobled by treasures more precious than
We can walk with the martyrs and heroes of old;
While humanity whispers such truths in the ear,
As it softens the heart like sweet music to hear?
O! shall we despond while, with visions still free,
We can gaze on the sky, and the earth, and the sea;
While the sunshine can waken a burst of delight,
And the stars are a joy and a glory by night:
While each harmony, running through nature, can
raise

In our spirits the impulse of gladness and praise?
O! let us no longer then vainly lament
Over scenes that are faded and days that are spent:

But, by faith unforsaken, unawed by mischance, On hope's waving banner still fix'd be our glance; And, should fortune prove cruel and false to the last, Let us look to the future and not to the past!

THE MARTYR OF THE ARENA. HONOUR'D be the hero evermore,

Who at mercy's call has nobly died! Echoed be his name from shore to shore, With immortal chronicles allied! Verdant be the turf upon his dust,

Bright the sky above, and soft the air!
In the grove set up his marble bust,
And with garlands crown it, fresh and fair.
In melodious numbers, that shall live
With the music of the rolling spheres,
Let the minstrel's inspiration give

His eulogium to the future years!
Not the victor in his country's cause,
Not the chief who leaves a people free,
Not the framer of a nation's laws

Shall deserve a greater fame than he!
Hast thou heard, in Rome's declining day,
How a youth, by Christian zeal impell'd,
Swept the sanguinary games away,

Which the Coliseum once beheld? Fill'd with gazing thousands were the tiers, With the city's chivalry and pride, When two gladiators, with their spears, Forward sprang from the arena's side. Rang the dome with plaudits loud and long, As, with shields advanced, the athletes stoodWas there no one in that cager throng

To denounce the spectacle of blood? Aye, TELEMACHUS, with swelling frame,

Saw the inhuman sport renew'd once more: Few among the crowd could tell his name

For a cross was all the badge he wore! Yet, with brow elate and godlike mien,

Stepp'd he forth upon the circling sand; And, while all were wondering at the scene, Check'd the encounter with a daring hand. "Romans!" cried he-"Let this reeking sod Never more with human blood be stain'd! Let no image of the living GOD

In unhallow'd combat be profaned! Ah! too long has this colossal dome

Fail'd to sink and hide your brutal shows! Here I call upon assembled Rome

Now to swear, they shall forever close!" Parted thus, the combatants, with joy,

Mid the tumult, found the means to fly; In the arena stood the undaunted boy,

And, with looks adoring, gazed on high. Peal'd the shout of wrath on every side; Every hand was eager to assail!

Slay him! slay!" a hundred voices cried, Wild with fury-but he did not quail! Hears he, as entranced he looks above,

Strains celestial, that the menace drown? Sees he angels, with their eyes of love,

Beckoning to him, with a martyr's crown? Fiercer swell'd the people's frantic shout!

Launch'd against him flew the stones like rain!

Death and terror circled him about

But he stood and perish'd-not in vain! Not in vain the youthful martyr fell!

Then and there he crush'd a bloody creed! And his high example shall impel

Future heroes to as great a deed! Stony answers yet remain for those

Who would question and precede the time! In their season, may they meet their foes, Like TELEMACHUS, with front sublime!

SUMMER IN THE HEART.

THE cold blast at the casement beats,
The window-panes are white,

The snow whirls through the empty streets-
It is a dreary night!

Sit down, old friend! the wine-cups wait;
Fill to o'erflowing! fill!
Though Winter howleth at the gate,

In our hearts 'tis summer still!

For we full many summer joys

And greenwood sports have shared,
When, free and ever-roving boys,

The rocks, the streams we dared!
And, as I look upon thy face-

Back, back o'er years of ill, My heart flies to that happy place, Where it is summer still!

Yes, though, like sere leaves on the ground,

Our early hopes are strown,

And cherish'd flowers lie dead around,
And singing birds are flown,-

The verdure is not faded quite,

Not mute all tones that thrill; For, secing, hearing thee to-night,

In my heart 'tis summer still! Fill up the olden times come back!

With light and life once more

We scan the future's sunny track,

From youth's enchanted shore!
The lost return. Through fields of bloom
We wander at our will;

Gone is the winter's angry gloom

In our hearts 'tis summer still!

THE FUGITIVE FROM LOVE.

Is there but a single theme
For the youthful poet's dream?
Is there but a single wire
To the youthful poet's lyre?
Earth below and heaven above-
Can he sing of naugnt but love?
Nav! the battle's dust I see!
God of war! I follow thee!
And, in martial numbers, raise
Worthy pæans to thy praise.
Ah! she meets me on the field-
If I fly not, I must yield.
Jolly patron of the grape!
To thy arms I will escape!

Quick, the rosy nectar bring; "IO BACCHE" I will sing. Ha! Confusion! every sip But reminds me of her lip. PALLAS! give me wisdom's page, And awake my lyric rage; Love is fleeting; love is vain; I will try a nobler strain. O, perplexity! my books But reflect her haunting looks! JUPITER! on thee I cry! Take me and my lyre on high! Lo! the stars beneath me gleam! Here, 0, poet! is a theme. Madness! She has come above! Every chord is whispering "Love!"

THE NIGHT-STORM AT SEA 'Tis a dreary thing to be Tossing on the wide, wide sea, When the sun has set in clouds, And the wind sighs through the shrouds, With a voice and with a tone Like a living creature's moan! Look! how wildly swells the surge Round the black horizon's verge! See the giant billows rise From the ocean to the skies! While the sea-bird wheels his flight O'er their streaming crests of white. List! the wind is wakening fast! All the sky is overcast! Lurid vapours, hurrying, trail In the pathway of the gale, As it strikes us with a shock That might rend the deep-set rock! Falls the strain'd and shiver'd mast! Spars are scatter'd by the blast! And the sails are split asunder, As a cloud is rent by thunder; And the struggling vessel shakes, As the wild sea o'er her breaks. Ah! what sudden light is this, Blazing o'er the dark abyss? Lo! the full moon rears her form Mid the cloud-rifts of the storm, And, athwart the troubled air, Shines, like hope upon despair! Every leaping billow gleams With the lustre of her beams, And lifts high its fiery plume Through the midnight's parting gloom While its scatter'd flakes of gold O'er the sinking deck are roll'd. Father! low on bended knee, Humbled, weak, we turn to thee! Spare us, mid the fearful fight Of the raging winds to-night! Guide us o'er the threatening wave: Save us!-thou alone canst save!