THE LAMENT OF COLUMBUS. Nor mine the dreams, The vague chimeras of an earth-stained soul, Have chased the gloom that round my soul was flung, From my youth up For this high purpose was I set apart- Was filled with all earth's agonies, I quaffed There were who jeered, And laughed to scorn my visionary scheme; And vivified alone the spot of earth Where they, like worms, had lived and grovelled from their birth. But, called by God, From home and friends my willing steps I turned; And lo! new worlds uncurtained by my hand, And what was given That won my king a new-found empire's spoils? Blessed him who sought amid those Eden plains Forgot by all, Amid a land of Savages, I wait From cruel hostile hands my coming fate; Beneath the grief that weighs upon my heart, How have I wept In pity for my followers, when afar O'er the wide sea with scarce a guiding star But night winds only o'er my grave shall sigh; No selfish hope Of fame or honour led me here again With treachery and wrong, until the flame To serve my king I came, with zeal unkindness could not chill; Taught me to fling The veil of error from before my eyes, And teach mankind His power as shewn 'neath other skies. Weep for me, Earth! Thou, whose bright wonders I have oft explored; Weep for me Heaven! to whose proud heights has soared, E'en from its birth, My strong-winged spirit in its might alone; Lo! he who gave new worlds now dies unwept, unknown. BY MISS MITFORD. THRRE is a voice of magic power To charm the old, delight the youngIn lordly hall, in rustic bower, In every clime, in every tongue, Howe'er its sweet vibration rung, In whispers low, in poet's lays, There lives not one who has not hung Enraptured on the voice of praise. The timid child, at that soft voice, Whilst shame and infant modesty The lovely maiden's dimpled cheek The hero, when a people's voice It pierces to their inmost core; He weeps, who never shed a tear; He trembles, who ne'er shook before. The poet, too-ah! well I deem, Small is the need the tale to tell; Who knows not that his thought, his dream, In memory cheer his gloomy cell; "Tis sweet to watch Affection's eye; When Friendship's lips the tones repeat; The lover lulls his rankling wound, By dwelling on his fair one's name; Of her young warrior's growing fame. THE EOLIAN HARP. OH! breathe not-breathe not- -sure 't was something holy! With a wild voice, that slowly rolls away, And now again the wind-harp's frame hath felt These sounds to me Bear record of strange feelings;-it was evening, Like this soft harp, the plaything of each impulse, Listening for many minutes- -the sounds ceased, Were mingling with my thoughts-I thought of one, -I rushed away—I mingled with the mirth At times wild feelings-words will not express them → I did not sleep-I could not choose but listen, For o'er the wind-harp's strings the spirit came With that same sweet low voice. Yes! thou may'st smile, But I must think, my friend, as then I thought, |