Feelest thou this?-then cast thy eyelids down, For from the east her breath comes wafted o'er. Ah!-the day breaks!-thank God, the dream is flown
Ay Love is much, but Liberty far more!
I LOVE thee best, old Ocean! when
Thy waters flow all ripplingly;
And dimpling lake, in inland glen,
May seem almost the type of thee;
And when long-lingering lights of eve
Pause o'er thy waves that hardly heave;
And anchored vessels, seen afar
Athwart the bay, with slanting shrouds,
And crossing lines of rope and spar
Hang pictured on the yellow clouds;
While Silence, from the placid shore,
May count each beat of distant oar;
And spirit airs-or so they seem-
Are whispering of some far-off land;
For then doth Fancy love to dream
Along thy visionary strand,
And winneth tender thoughts from thee,-
Perchance too tender-gentle Sea!
No mother-home is world of ours
For dreamy tenderness alone,
But a rough school; and sturdier powers,
That wrestle with the sigh, the groan-
And thoughts heroical and free,
Are thy bold teaching-stormy Sea!
And, hence, not all unpleased to brook-
By lightning flashes shown more dark,
Watch I with onward straining look,
Yet saddened too, yon Grecian bark, Whose stoutest hand scarce holds the helm, 'Mid whirling waves that rush to whelm.
That bark to aid, a torch's light
Is gleaming through the troubled air.
She lifts it there! In wild affright,
A wife-a mother-lifts it there,
For him, who, spite of coming wreck,
In calmness treads his splitting deck.
And yet one pang he scarce may brook-
He knows who lights that dangerous strand-
Oh, might he gather one last look!
Clasp but once more that loving hand!
And doth Love die, indeed, with breath?
Or rules he in the realms of Death?
If that brave bark may triumph yet,
No guardian spirit comes to tell;
Or if the prayers, in terror met,
Bend vainly, now, o'er yonder swell,
As when, on that disastrous night,
Abydos saw the failing light.
If that brave bark may triumph yet,
We know not how decreed above;
But this for lesson sure is set,
That courage firm and faithful love,
Or if they live, or if they die,
Have each fulfilled their mission high.
Through what a bitter tract of time
Hast thou not mourned, Egean wave!
Each dweller of thy storied clime,
A struggler now-and now a slave;
In war-in peace-struck down, or vexed,
By Roman first-by Moslem next.
Yet faithful Love ne'er fled the shore,
And Courage old still lingers there;
And fresh-sprung Freedom, more and more,
Shall nurture in her generous air
High souls of women and of men,
Till Salamis revive again!
WHY DO THE FLOWERS BLOOM?
"WHY do the flowers bloom, mother,
Why do the sweet flowers bloom,
And brightest those we reared, mother,
Around my brother's tomb ?"
"To fill the world with gladness
My child, were flow'rets given,
To crown the earth with beauty,
And shew the path to heaven!"
"Then wherefore do they fade, mother,
Why do those sweet flowers fade,
When winter's dreary clouds, mother,
Earth's brighter scenes pervade?
"My child, those flowers that wither
Have seeds that still remain,
That the sunshine and the summer,
Restore to life again !"
"And shall not those who die, mother,
Come back to life once more,
E'en as the rain and sun, mother,
Those beauteous flowers restore?"
"Yes-yes, my child, such powers
To human flowers are given,
HERE earth's frail buds may blossom,
But we may rise-IN HEAVEN."
SHE has gone to her grave when our hopes were the strongest,
For the sun of her beauty shed light o'er the
Oh! we mourn not the blossoms that linger the longest,
Like those that decay while their branches
How brief is the time since her voice was the clearest,
Her laughter the loudest, amid the gay
But the hand of consumption hath seized on our dearest,
And sealed are her bright eyes, and silent her song!
She has gone to her grave! Like a vision before us
Her young spirit fled to the realms of the
And though tears may assuage, yet they cannot restore us
The lips that so lately in life-time we press'd;
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