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Where sedgy pool, nor bubbling fount,
Nor tree, nor cloud, nor misty mount,
Appears, to refresh the aching eye:
But the barren earth, and the burning sky,
And the blank horizon, round and round,
Spread--void of living sight or sound.

And here, while the night-winds round me sigh,
And the stars burn bright in the midnight sky,
As I sit apart by the desert stone,
Like Elijah at Horeb's cave alone,
“A still small voice” comes through the wild
(Like a father consoling his fretful child,)
Which banishes bitterness, wrath, and fear,


All-all now forsaken-forgotten-foregone!
And I-a lone exile remember'd of none-
My high aims abandon'd,—my good acts undone,-
Aweary of all that is under the sun,
With that sadness of heart which no stranger may

I fly to the desert afar from man !

Afar in the desert I love to ride, With the silent Bush-boy alone by my side: When the wild turmoil of this wearisome life, With its scenes of oppression, corruption, and strife: The proud man's frown, and the base man's fear,The scorner's laugh, and the sufferer's tear,And malice, and meanness, and falsehood, and folly, Dispose me to musing and dark melancholy; When my bosom is full, and my thoughts are high, And my soul is sick with the bondman's sighOh! then there is freedom, and joy, and pride, Afar in the desert alone to ride! There is rapture to vault on the champing steed, And to bound away with the eagle's speed, With the death-fraught firelock in my handThe only law of the desert land!

Afar in the desert I love to ride, With the silent Bush-boy alone by my side: Away-away from the dwellings of men, By the wild deer's haunt, by the buffalo's glen; By valleys remote where the oribi plays, Where the gnu, the gazelle, and the hartebeest graze, And the kudu and eland unhunted recline By the skirts of gray forests o'erhung with wild-vine; Where the elephant browses at peace in his wood, And the river-horse gambols unscared in the flood, And the mighty rhinoceros wallows at will In the fen where the wild-ass is drinking his fill.

Afar in the desert I love to ride, With the silent Bush-boy alone by my side : O’er the brown Karroo, where the bleating cry Of the springbok's fawn sounds plaintively; And the timorous quagga's shrill whistling neigh Is heard by the fountain at twilight gray; Where the zebra wantonly tosses his mane, With wild hoof scouring the desolate plain ; And the fleet-footed ostrich over the waste Speeds like a horseman who travels in haste, Hying away to the home of her rest, Where she and her mate have scoop'd their nest, Far hid from the pitiless plunderer's view In the pathless depths of the parch'd Karroo.

Afar in the desert I love to ride, With the silent Bush-boy alone by my side: Away-away-in the wilderness vast, Where the white man's foot hath never pass'd, And the quiver'd Coránna or Bechuán Hath rarely cross'd with his roving clan : A region of emptiness, howling and drear, Which man hath abandon'd from famine and fear; Which the snake and the lizard inhabit alone, With the twilight bat from the yawning stone; Where grass, nor herb, nor shrub takes root, Save poisonous thorns that pierce the foot; And the bitter-melon, for food and drink, Is the pilgrim's fare by the salt lake's brink : A region of drought, where no river glides, Nor rippling brook with osiered sides;

I sat at noontide in my tent,

And look'd across the desert dun,
That 'neath the cloudless firmament

Lay gleaming in the sun,
When from the bosom of the waste
A swarthy stripling came in haste,
With foot unshod and naked limb,
And a tame springbok following him.
He came with open aspect bland,

And modestly before me stood,
Caressing with a kindly hand

That fawn of gentle brood; Then, meekly gazing in my face, Said in the language of his race, With smiling look, yet pensive tone, « Stranger, I'm in the world alone !" “ Poor boy,” I said, “ thy kindred's home,

Beyond far Stormberg's ridges blue,
Why hast thou left so young, to roam

This desolate Karroo ?”
The smile forsook him while I spoke;
And when again he silence broke,
It was with many a stifled sigh
He told this strange, sad history.
“I have no kindred !” said the boy :

«The Bergenaars, by night they came, And raised their murder-shout of joy,

While o'er our huts the flame
Rush'd like a torrent; and their yell
Peal'd louder as our warriors fell
In helpless heaps beneath their shot,
One living man they left us not!
• The slaughter o'er, they gave the slain

To feast the foul-beak'd birds of prey ;
And with our herds across the plain

They hurried us away-
The widow'd mothers and their brood:
Oft, in despair, for drink and food
We vainly cried, they heeded not,
But with sharp lash the captives smote.
« Three days we track'd that dreary wild,

Where thirst and anguish press'd us sore ; And many a mother and her child

Lay down to rise no more:

Behind us, on the desert brown,
We saw the vultures swooping down;
And heard, as the grim light was falling,
The gorged wolf to his comrade calling.
“At length was heard a river sounding

Midst that dry and dismal land,
And, like a troop of wild deer bounding,

We hurried to its strand;
Among the madden'd cattle rushing,
The crowd behind still forward pushing,
Till in the flood our limbs were drench'd
And the fierce rage of thirst was quench'd.
“ Hoarse-roaring, dark, the broad Gareep

In turbid streams was sweeping fast,
Huge sea-cows in its eddies deep

Loud snorting as we pass’d;
But that relentless robber clan
Right through those waters wild and wan
Drove on like sheep our captive host,
Nor staid to rescue wretches lost.
“ All shivering from the foaming flood,

We stood upon the stranger's ground,
When, with proud looks and gestures rude,

The white men gather'd round:
And there, like cattle from the fold,
By Christians we were bought and sold,
Midst laughter loud and looks of scorn,-
And roughly from each other torn.
“My mother's scream so long and shrill,

My little sister's wailing cry,
(In dreams I often hear them still!)

Rose wildly to the sky.
A tiger's heart came to me then,
And madly 'mong those ruthless men
I sprang !-Alas! dash'd on the sand,
Bleeding, they bound me foot and hand.
“ Away-away on bounding steeds

The white man-stealers fleetly go,
Through long, low valleys, fringed with reeds,

O'er mountains capp'd with snow,-
Each with his captive, far and fast;
Until yon rock-bound ridge was pass'd,
And distant stripes of cultured soil
Bespoke the land of tears and toil.
" And tears and toil have been my lot

Since I the white man's thrall became,
And sorer griefs I wish forgot-

Harsh blows and scorn and shame. Oh, English chief! thou ne'er canst know The injured bondman's bitter wo, When round his heart, like scorpions, cling Black thoughts, that madden while they sting! 6 Yet this hard fate I might have bome,

And taught in time my soul to bend,

Had my sad yearning breast forlorn

But found a single friend :
My race extinct or far removed,
The boor's rough brood I could have loved
But each to whom my bosom turn'd
Even like a hound the black boy spurn'd! .
“ While, friendless thus, my master's flocks

I tended on the upland waste,
It chanced this fawn leapt from the rocks,

By wolfish wild-dogs chased :
I rescued it, though wounded sore,
All dabbled with its mother's gore,
And nursed it in a cavern wild
Until it loved me like a child.
« Gently I nursed it; for I thought

(Its hapless fate so like to mine) By good Ctiko it was brought,

To bid me not repine-
Since in this world of wrong and ill
One creature lived to love me still,
Although its dark and dazzling eye
Beam'd not with human sympathy.
“Thus lived I, a lone orphan lad,

My task the proud Boor's flocks to tend;
And this poor fawn was all I had

To love, or call my friend; When suddenly, with haughty look And taunting words, that tyrant took My playmate for his pamper'd boy, Who envied me my only joy. “ High swellid my heart! But when the star

Of midnight gleam'J, I softly led
My bounding favourite forth, and far

Into the desert fled.
And here, from human kind exiled,
Three moons on roots and berries wild
I've fared ; and braved the beasts of prey,
To escape from spoilers worse than they.
But yester morn a Bushman brought

The tidings that thy tents were near;
And now with hasty foot I've sought

Thy presence, void of fear;
Because they say, 0 English chief,
Thou scornest not the captive's grief:
Then let me serve thee, as thine own-
For I am in the world alone!"
Such was Marossi's touching tale.

Our breasts they were not made of stone: His words, bis winning looks prevail

We took him for « our own.”
And one, with woman's gentle art,
Unlock'd the fountains of his heart;
And love gush'd forth-till he became
Her child in every thing but name.


William Peter, the descendant of a family in the successful advocacy of which he had, which has flourished for many centuries in by his speeches and writings, long borne a the west of England, * was born in Cornwall, leading part in his native county. Since his educated at Christ-Church, Oxford, and stu- | withdrawal from Parliament, he has spent died law at Lincoln's Inn. After a few years' | two or three years in visiting different counresidence in London, he returned to his native tries of Europe, and is now Her Britannic shire, settling down at the seat of his fore- | Majesty's Consul for the State of Pennsylvania. fathers, and dividing his time between literary Mr. Peter's poetical works consist of and domestic pleasures and the discharge of translations from the German and Italian,* those magisterial and other duties attached to scriptural paraphrases, and original pieces. the life of an English country gentleman. His translations are remarkable for their eleBeing a zealous whig, however, of the Somers gance and fidelity, and all his productions and Fox school, he was, at length, induced to for a most scholarly elaboration and finish. enter the House of Commons, where, during He is also the author of a “Memoir of Sir the few years that he continued a member of | Samuel Romilly," as well as of several tracts, that body, he had the satisfaction of contri- | chiefly political, and in support of the princibuting by his votes to the final triumph of ples and party to which he has been throughmany of those great principles and measures, | out life attached.

DAMON AND PYTHIAS. | Then to Pythias he went; and he told him his case ;

That true friend answer'd not, but, with instant Non certes; la Vie n'est pas si aride que l'Egoisme

embrace nous l'a faite ; tout n'y est pas prudence, tout n'y est

Consenting, rush'd forth to be bound in his pas calcul.Mad. de Staël.

room ; “ HERE, guards!" pale with fears Dionysius cries,

And now, as if wing'd with new life from above, “Here, guards, yon intruder arrest !

To his sister he flew, did his errand of love, 'Tis Damon-but hah! speak, what means this

And, ere a third morning had brighten'd the grove, disguise ?

Was returning with joy to his doom. And the dagger, which gleams in thy vest ?" « 'Twas to free,” says the youth, “this dear land

But the heavens interpose, from its chains !"

Stern the tempest arose, « Free the land! wretched fool, thou shalt die for |

And, when the poor pilgrim arrived at the shore,

Swoll'n to torrents, the rills thy pains."

Rush'd in foam from the hills, “I am ready to die-I ask not to live

And crash went the bridge in the whirlpool's wild Yet three days of respite, perhaps, thou may'st give,

roar. For to-morrow, my sister will wed, there; And 't would damp all her joy, were her brother not Wildly gazing, despairing, half phrensied he stood; Then let me, I pray, to her nuptials repair, Dark, dark were the skies, and dark was the flood, Whilst a friend remains here in my stead.” And still darker his lorn heart's emotion;

And he shouted for aid, but no aid was at hand, With a sneer on his brow, and a curse in his breast, No boat ventured forth from the surf-ridden strand, “ Thou shalt have,” cries the tyrant, “shalt have

And the waves sprang, like woods, o'er the lessenthy request;

ing land,
To thy sister's repair, on her nuptials attend, And the stream was becoming an ocean.
Enjoy thy three days, but-mark well what I say-
Return on the third; if, beyond that fix'd day,

Now with knees low to earth and with hands to There be but one hour's, but one moment's delay,

the skies, That delay shall be death to thy friend !”

“ Still the storm, God of might, God of mercy !" he * Burke's " Commoners of England.”

cries+ Tbis an imitation or free version of Schiller's “ Bürgschaft."'-For the origin of the story, see Valerius Maximus, I. iv. c.7. de Amicitiâ ; Cic. Off, I. iii. c. 10; * Amongst these are Schiller's “ William Tell," “ Mary and Lactant. I. v. c. 17. Pythias is called Phintias by Stuart,” the “Maid of Orleans," "Battle with the DraValerius Maximus and Cicero.

gon;" Manzoni's “ Fifth of May," &c., &c.


“Oh hush with thy breath this loud sea; With confident soul he stood, hour after hour, The hours hurry by : the sun glows on high ; Thy return never doubting to see; And should he go down, and I reach not yon town, No sneers of the tyrant that faith could o'erpower My friend-he must perish for me!"

Or shake his assurance in thee !” Yet the wrath of the torrent still went on increasing, “And is it too late ? and cannot I save sgrave! And waves upon waves still dissolved without His dear life? then, at least, let me share in his ceasing,

Yes, death shall unite us! no tyrant shall say, And hour after hour hurried on;

That friend to his friend proved untrue; he may Then, by anguish impell’d, hope and fear alike o'er, He, reckless, rush'd into the water's deep roar; May torture, may mock at all mercy and ruth, Rose, sunk, struggled on, till, at length, the But ne'er shall he doubt of our friendship and truth." wish'd shore,

"Tis sunset; and Damon arrives at the gate, Thanks to Heaven's outstretch'd hand—it is

Sees the scaffold and multitudes gazing below; won !

Already the victim is bared for his fate, But new perils await him: scarce 'scaped from the Already the deathsman stands arm'd for the blow; flood,

When hark! a wild voice, which is echo'd around, And intent on redeeming each moment's delay, “Stay !-'tis I-it is Damon, for whom he was As onward he sped, lo! from out a dark wood,

bound !" A band of fierce robbers encompass'd his way.

And now they sink into each other's embrace, * What would ye ?” he cried, “ save my life I

And are weeping for joy and despair. [case; have naught;

Not a soul, amongst thousands, but melts at their Nay, that is the king's" -Then swift, having caught

Which swift to the monarch they bear; A club from the nearest, and swinging it round

Even he, too, is moved-feels for once as he oughtWith might more than man's, he laid three on the

And commands, that they both to his throne shall ground,

be brought. Whilst the rest hurried off in dismay.

Then,-alternately gazing on each gallant.youth But the noon's scorching flame

With looks of awe, wonder, and shame Soon shoots through his frame,

“Ye have conquer'd,” he cries. « Yes, I see now And he turns, faint and way-worn, to heaven

that truth, with a sigh

That friendship, is not a mere name. « From the flood and the foe

Go: you're free; but, whilst life's dearest blessThou'st redeem'd me, and oh!

ings you prove, Thus, by thirst overcome, must I effortless lie,

Let one prayer of your monarch be heard, And leave him, the beloved of my bosom, to die!" | That-his past sins forgot-in this union of love Scarce utter'd the word,

And of virtue—you make him the third.”
When startled he heard
Purling sounds, sweet as silver's, fall fresh on his ear;
And low a small rill

Trickled down from the hill!
He heard and he saw, and, with joy drawing near, Die Blume ist hinweg aus meinem Leben,
Laved his limbs, slaked his thirst, and renew'd his

Und kalt und farblos seh' ich's vor mir liegen.

Tae clouds gather fast, the oak forests' moan, And now the sun's beams through the deep boughs

A maiden goes forth by the dark sea alone, are glowing,

The wave on the shore breaks with might, with And rock, tree, and mountain their shadows are

might, throwing,

And she mingles her sighs with gloomy night, Hage and grim, o'er the meadow's bright bloom;

Whilst her eyes are all tearfully roving. And two travellers are seen coming forth on their

“ My heart, it is dead, and the world's void and drear

And there's nothing to hope or to live for here. way, And, just as they pass, he hears one of them say

Thou Holy One, call back thy child to her rest; “ 'Tis the hour that was fix'd for his doom.”

In the pleasure of earth I've already been blest,

In the pleasure of living and loving !"
Still, anguish gives strength to his wavering flight;
On he speeds; and lo now! in eve's reddening light

Vain, vain thy regrets, vain the tears that are shed The domes of far Syracuse blend ;- (gray

O'er the tomb; no complaints will awaken the dead; There Philostratus meets him, (a servant grown

Yet oh! if there's aught to the desolate heart, In his house,) crying: “Back! not a moment's

For the lost light of love can a solace impart,delay;

It will not be denied thee by heaven. No cares will avail for thy friend.

“Let the soul then sigh on, its tears gently fall;

Though life, love, and rapture, they cannot recall, “No; nothing can save his dear head from the tomb; Yet the sweetest of balms to the desolate breast, So think of preserving thine own.

For the lost love of Him, whom on earth it loved Myself, I beheld him led forth to his doom;

best, Ere this, his brave spirit has flown.

Are the pangs to his memory given.”



Perfida sed, quamvis perfida, chara tamen.

But ah! as ocean's breast, unsteady,

These visions fade, these joys decay, And, faithless, from my path already,

Friend after friend, they've dropp'd away. False Fortune hails some happier master,

The thirst of Lore survives my youth, But doubt's chill clouds are gathering faster

Around the sunny form of Truth. I saw the holy crown of Glory

Polluted on the vulgar brow; And Love-ah, why so transitory?

E'en Love's sweet flowers are withering now; And dimmer all around, and dimmer,

Fades on the sense life's west'ring ray,
Till Hope herself scarce leaves a glimmer

To light the pilgrim on his way.
Of all,—the crowd, -that once were near me,

To court, soothe, flatter, shout, carouse,
Who now is left? Who comes to cheer me,

Or follow to my last dark house ? Thou, Friendship! gentlest nurse, that bearest

Balm for all wounds, all woes around, Who, patient, every burden sharest

Mine earliest sought and latest found. And thou, with Friendship still uniting,

Exorcist of the stormy soul, Employment, all its powers exciting,

Though weakening none, by thy control!
Who, grain on grain, with fond endeavour,

Ado'st to eternity's vast day,
Yet from Time's debt, unwearied ever,

Art striking weeks, months, years, away.

Thou, and wilt thou for ever leave me

With thy bright smiles, with thy sweet sighs, And didst thou come but to deceive me,

With all thy tender phantasies?
Can naught detain, naught overcome thee,

O golden season of life's glee?
In vain! Thy waves are sweeping from me

Into eternity's dark sea.
The sun-smiles, the fresh blooms have perish'd,

That bright around my morntide shone, And all within this heart most cherish'd,

Life's sweet Ideal-all is gone. The fairy visions, the gay creatures,

To which my trusting soul gave birth, Stern reason dims their angel-features,

And heaven is lost in clouds of earth. As erst, with fiercest, tenderest anguish

Pygmalion clasp'd the senseless stone, And taught the death-cold breast to languish

With blood, pulse, transports, as his own; Thus I, around my heart's dear treasure,

Round nature, twined my wooing arms, Till, giving back the throb of pleasure,

She glow'd,-alive in all her charms. Then, then with mutual instinct burning,

The dumb caught raptures from my tongue, And, kiss with sweetest kiss returning,

Responsive to her minstrel rung: With falls more musical the fountain,

With brighter hues, tree, flower were rife, The soulless breath'd from lake and mountain,

And all was echo of my life.
My bark, with wider sails unmooring

Stretch'd boldly forth o'er depths unknown, With eager prow life's coasts exploring,

Her realms of thought, sight, feeling, tone. How vast the world then, how elysian

Its prospects, in dim distance seen! Ilow faded now,-on nearer vision

How small,--and oh! that small, how mean! With soul, by worldling care unblighted,

With brow, unblench'd by fear or shame, How sprang-on wings of hope delighted

Young manhood to the lists of fame! Far, far beyond earth's cold dominions,

High, high as light's exultant sphere, No realms too distant for his pinions,

No worlds too bright for his career. How swist the car of rapture bore him,

(No toils seem'd hari, no wishes vain.) How light, how gladsome, danced before him

Imagination's sparkling train!
High Truth, in sun-bright morion glancing,

Young Glory, with his laurell’d sword,
Fortune, on golden wheels advancing,
And true Love, with its sweet reward.

* A free version of Schiller’s “ Die Ideale."


Though Cowper's zeal, though Milton's fire

Inspired my glowing tongue; Though holier raptures woke my lyre,

Than ever Seraph sung;
Though faith, though knowledge from above

Mine ardent labours crown'd;
Did I not glow with Christian love,

"T were all but empty sound. Love suffers long; is just, sincere,

Forgiving, slow to blame;
Friend of the good, she grieves to hear

An erring brother's shame.
Meek, holy, free from selfish zeal,

To generous pity prone,
She envies not another's weal,

Nor triumphs in her own.
No evil, no suspicious thought

She harbours in her breast;
She tries us by the deeds we've wrought,

And still believes the best.
Love never fails; though knowledge cease,

Though prophecies decay,
Love, Christian love, shall still increase,

Shall still extend her sway.

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