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And tell her, Darwent, as you murmur bye, How in these wilds with hopeless love I burn, Teach your lone vales and echoing caves to sigh, And mix my briny sorrows with your urn!
THE SAILOR BOY'S ADIEU.
The boatswain's shrill whistle piped all hands ahoy,
And was it dismay that affected his breast,
Ah no! 'twas a passion more keenly exprest,
"Twas the throb of affection 'twas nature's appealings?
To home and to kindred he'd bidden farewell!
memory had bound round his bosom her spell,
And he mused on the words of his mother!
My hope is thy conduct, thy father is dead,
Be true to thy king, and ne'er shrink from thy duty; The furrows of age on my temples are spread,
Thy sister has nought but her virtue and beauty.
The sailor boy's cheek was bedewed with a tear,
With hearty huzzas his young bosom they cheer,
Aloft up the shrouds to his duty he flew,
His heart glowed with courage, all obstacles braving, From his neck his dear sister's last token he drew, The pledge of her love, from the top gallant waving. G. Lewis.
EXTRACT FROM CHILDE HAROLD.
Is thy face like thy mother's! my fair child !
Awaking with a start
The waters heave around me; and on high
Yet once more upon the waters, yet once more!
Hung from a rock, on ocean's foam to sail,
Where'er the surge may sweep-the tempest's breath pre
SPEECH OF AN OLD OAK IN THE PLEASURE GROUND AT
Stranger, if peace delights your cultured mind
-Beats thy young heart with finer feelings, warm?
For Virtue, guest celestial, guards the glades,
ON THE NEW YEAR.
Blest opening of another year!
Thy cheerful sounds dispel the fear
That presses down my soul:
I see the billows roll.
How darkly roll; though snowy crests
And vainly scans my feeble thought,
What the year's changes will have wrought,
How low my joys may ebb; my woe-
This, this shall silence all my fears,
ON A TOMB-STONE IN IRELAND.
A little spirit slumbers here,
Who to one heart was very dear,
Oh! he was more than life or light,
Its thought by day-its dream by night.