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THE CONVICT SHIP.
Morn on the waters !-and purple and bright
the gale ; The winds come around her with murmur and
song, And the surges rejoice as they bear her along : See! she looks up to the golden-edged clouds, And the sailor sings gaily aloft in the shrouds : Onward she glides, amid ripple and spray, Over the waters—away, and away! Bright as the visions of youth, ere they part, Passing away, like a dream of the heart ! Who,-as the beautiful pageant sweeps by, Music around her, and sunshine on high, Pauses to think, amid glitter and glow, “ Oh! there be hearts that are breaking below !"
Night on the waves! and the moon is on high, Hung like a gem, on the brow of the sky, Treading its depths in the power of her might,
And turning the clouds, as they pass her, to
light ! Look to the waters ! asleep on their breast, Seems not the ship like an island of rest ? Bright and alone on the shadowy main, Like a heart-cherished home on some desolate
plain! Who--as she smiles in the silvery light, Spreading her wings on the bosom of night, Alone on the deep, as the moon in the sky, A phantom of beauty—could deem, with a sigh, That so lovely a thing is the mansion of sin, And that souls that are smitten, lie bursting
within ? Who—as he watches her silently glidingRemembers that wave after wave is dividing Bosoms that sorrow and guilt could not sever, Hearts which are parted and broken for ever ? Or deems that he watches, afloat on the wave, The death-bed of hope, or the young spirit's
'Tis thus with our life, while it passes along,
Fading and false is the aspect it wears,
cannot know, Like heart-broken exiles, lie burning below; And the vessel drives on to that desolate shore Where the dreams of our childhood are vanished and o’er.
THE GRAVES OF A HOUSEHOLD.
They grew in beauty, side by side,
They filled one home with glee :
By mount, and stream, and sea.
The same fond mother bent at night
O’er each fair sleeping brow;
Where are those dreamers now?
One, 'midst the forest of the west,
By a dark stream is laid-
Far in the cedar shade.
The sea, the blue lone sea, hath one
He lies where pearls lie deep; He was the loved of all, yet none
O’er his low bed may weep.
One sleeps where southern vines are drest,
Above the noble slain ;
On a blood-red field of Spain.
And one-o'er her the myrtle showers
Its leaves, by soft winds fann'd; She faded ʼmidst Italian flowers
The last of that bright band.
And parted thus they rest, who played
Beneath the same green tree; Whose voices mingled as they prayed
Around one parent knee !
They that with smiles lit up the hall,
And cheered with song the hearth-
THE ANGELS GREETING.
“Hark! they whisper! Angels say,
Come to the land of peace ! Come where the tempest hath no longer sway, The shadow passes from the soul away
The sounds of weeping cease.
Fear hath no dwelling there !
Through the celestial air.
Come to the bright, and blest,
Thou hast been long alone;