Or the sweet bird, that charms the night,
Rapt in her fondest, sweetest plight,
Whilst May's young moon is shining bright,
My mother!

Say not these thoughts are weak and vain,
For still, uncall'd, they cross my brain,

Like angel-guests to sooth my pain,

My mother!

And if they be fond fantasies,
'Tis holy nature bids them rise,-
Her latest, dearest sympathies,-

My mother!

Ah, me! 't is hard the heart to tear
From all that's lovely, bright, and fair,
All, all we hold on earth so dear,

My mother!

I would not learn the cruel art,
To quench the longings of the heart,
So soon with them and thee to part,
My mother!

Still let me see day's smiling face,

And through the bright, blue, boundless space,

The sun still speed his glorious race,

My mother!

And till in death's calm sleep I rest,
Ah, let me clasp thee to my breast;
Or on thy bosom still be prest,
My mother!

Death but dissolves, and not destroys, Our inborn loves, and hopes, and joys, Our dearest, holiest sympathies,

My mother!

Soon shall its dreamless sleep be o'er, And on that better, brighter shore, We soon shall meet to part no more,

My mother!

Then mourn not thou when I am dead,

And let no briny tears be shed

O'er my new-made, peaceful bed,

My mother!

THE WATER QUEEN.

CALM, calm is thy dwelling,
'Neath the green sunny sea;
Not a sound there is swelling,
Save thy wild minstrelsy,

Save the song of Ocean's daughters,
From their cool grot of shells,
That steals o'er the waters,

And calms them with its spells.

And ofttimes o'er the billows

In thy car thou skimm'st along; And in the yellow moonlight Is heard thy dulcet song By those who chance to wander By creek or lonely bay, And see thee smoothly gliding

Thro' the silv'ry, sparkling spray.

When sunny beams are shining
Down the deep in gleamy light,
Then oft thou sitt'st reclining
On thy coral couch so bright,
Whilst thy sea-maids are decking
Thy soft and silken hair
With pearly-studded chaplets,

And gems of beauty rare:

For costly is the treasure
In thy bright domain below,
In the gardens of thy pleasure,
Where the groves of coral grow.
O! how I'd love to wander,-

If such a thing might be,-
Thro' all thy realm of wonder,
Beneath the deep, deep sea,

Amid the groves of coral,
And caves of crystal bright,
And treasures of the ocean,
Forbid to mortal sight;
To gaze upon the secrets

Of the vast and hoary deep,
That sometimes come in visions,
To charm our eyes in sleep.

A SUNSET AND MOONLIGHT VISIT TO PEEL CASTLE AND ITS ANCIENT CATHEDRAL.

THERE is not a spot in Mona's Isle
Has purer charms for me,
Than yonder lonely, mouldering pile,
Which beams in the bright sun's parting smile,
Ere he sinks in the western sea:

'Tis a hallow'd spot, with its turrets of light
That gleam in the glassy wave,

Where its image is mirror'd so calmly bright,

You'd think it the work of enchanter's might,
Rais'd from the ocean's grave.

up

There beams each hoary, time-worn tower,
All bent with the weight of years,

Like goodly Age in his dying hour,
Whilst sunny Hope's triumphant power
Dispels his doubts and fears.

There stands the holy, mouldering fane,
Where rest the sleeping dead,

Where they for ages long have lain,
And slept the sleep that knows no pain,
Each in his grassy bed.

But roofless now is that holy pile,

And its arches rent and riven;

Yet I love to tread its lonely aisle,

Where the foot-fall only is heard the while,

And muse on the things of heaven;

D