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MUSIC.

259

To us, and old remembered lays,

Unheard, unheeded long;

Revive in joy or grief within us,

Like lost friends wakened from their sleep With all their early power to win us

Alike to smile or weep.

And when we gaze upon that face,

Blooming in innocence and truth, And mark its dimpled artlessness,

Its beauty and its youth;

We think of better worlds than this,

Of other beings pure as thou, Who breathe, on winds of Paradise,

Music as thine is now.

And know the only emblem meet

Of that pure Faith the heart adores, To be a child like thee, whose feet

Are strangers on Life's shores.

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I COME from the deeps where the mermaiden twines,

In her bowers of amber, her garlands of shells : Where the sands are of gold, and, of crystal the vines,

And the spirit of gladness unchangingly dwellsI breathed on the harp at Zephyrus' cave,

And the strain, as it rose, glided upward with me; No dwelling on earth, but my home is the wave,

And my couch is the coral grove, deep in the sea.

SONG OF THE ZEPHYR SPIRIT.

261

Thou hast dreamed — hast thou not?- of those wave

girdled bowers, Where all that can win the heart, beams on the sight : Where life is a frolic through fancies and flowers,

And the soul lives in dreams of a lasting delight. Thou wouldst win what thy dreams have long brought

to thy view, Thou wouldst dwell with the moon that now beams

upon thee,

To the fears of the earth - to its cares, bid adieu,

Come, rest in the coral grove, deep in the sea.

With my

breath I will fan thee when noon-day is nigh, The gentlest of mermaids will lull thee to sleep; She will watch by thy couch when the sun passes by,

Nor fly when the moon leaves her home in the deep, Each joy thou hast sighed for, shall there be thine own,

The sorrows of time from thy slumbers shall flee, Then come with me — win all the pleasures I've shown,

Come rest in the coral grove, deep in the sea.

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Old cradle of an infant world,

In which a nestling empire lay,
Struggling awhile, 'ere she unfurled,

Her gallant wing and soared away,
All hail! thou birthplace of the glowing west,
Thou seemst the towering eagle's ruined nest!

What solemn recollections throng,

What touching visions rise,
As wandering these old stones among,

I backward turn mine eyes,
And see the shadows of the dead flit round,
Like spirits, when the last dread trump shall sound !

The wonders of an age combined

In one short moment memory supplies,

ODE TO

JAMESTOWN.

263

They throng upon my wakened mind,

As time's dark curtains rise.
The volume of a hundred buried years,
Condensed in one bright sheet, appears.

I hear the angry ocean rave,

I see the lonely little barque
Scudding along the crested wave,

Freighted like old Noah's ark,
As o'er the drowned earth it whirl'd,
With the forefathers of another world.

I see a train of exiles stand,

Amid the desert, desolate,
The fathers of my native land,

The daring pioneers of fate,
Who braved the perils of the sea and earth,
And gave a boundless empire birth.

I see the gloomy Indian range

His woodland empire, free as air;
I see the gloomy forest change,

The shadowy earth laid bare,
And, where the red man chased the bounding deer,
The smiling labours of the white appear.

I see the haughty warrior gaze

In wonder or in scorn,

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