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Thou art sounding on, thou mighty sea,

For ever and the same !
The ancient rocks yet ring to thee,

Whose thunders naught can tame.
Oh! many a glorious voice is gone,

From the rich bowers of earth,
And bush'd is many a lovely one

Of mournfulness or mirth.
The Dorian flute that sigh'd of yore

Along thy wave, is still ;
The barp of Judah peals no more

On Zion's awful hill.
And Memnon's lyre hath lost the chord

That breathed the mystic tone,
And the songs, at Rome's high triumphs pourd,

Are with her eagles flown.
And mute the Moorish born, that rang

O'er stream and mountain free,
And the hymn the leagued Crusaders sang,

Hath died in Galilee.
But thou art swelling on, thou deep,

Through many an olden clime,
Thy billowy anthem, ne'er to sleep

Until the close of time.
Thou liftest up thy solemn voice

To every wind and sky,
And all our earth's green shores rejoice

In that one harmony.
It fills the noontide's calm profound,

The sunset's heaven of gold;
And the still midnight hears the sound,

Ev'n as when first it roll'd.
Let there be silence, deep and strange,

Where sceptred cities rose !
Thou speak'st of one who doth not change-

-So may our hearts repose.




The boy stood on the burning deck,

Whence all but him had fled ;
The flame that lit the battle's wreck,

Shone round him o'er the dead.
Yet beautiful and bright he stood,

As born to rule the storm;
A creature of heroic blood,

A proud, though child-like form.
The flames rollid on-he would not go,

Without his father's word;
That father, faint in death below,

His voice no longer heard.
He call'd aloud" Say, father, say

If yet my task is done ?"
He knew not that the chieftain lay

Unconscious of his son.
“ Speak, Father !" once again he cried,
"If I may yet


---And but the booming shots replied,

And fast the flames roll'd on.
Upon his brow he felt their breath,

And in his waving hair ;
And look'd from that lone post of death,

In still, yet brave despair.
And shouted but once more aloud,

• My father! must I stay?"
While o'er him fast, through sail and shroud,

The wreathing fires made way.

* Young Casabianca, a boy about thirteen years old, son to the admiral of the Orient, remained at his post (in the battle of the Nile,) after the ship had taken fire, and all the guns had been abandoned; and perished in the explosion of the vessel, when the flames had reached the powder,



They wrapt the ship in splendour wild,

They caught the flag on high,
And stream'd above the gallant child,

Like banners in the sky.
There came a burst of thunder sound

The boy-oh! where was ke ?
-Ask of the winds that far around

With fragments strew'd the sea !
With mast, and helm, and pennon fair,

That well had borne their part
But the noblest thing that perish'd there,

Was that young faithful heart.


Why wouldst thou leave me, oh! gentle child ? Thy home on the mountain is bleak and wild, A straw-roof'd cabin with lowly wallMine is a fair and a pillar'd hall, Where many an image of marble gleams, And the sunshine of picture for ever streams.". “ Ob! green is the turf where my brothers play, Through the long bright hours of the summer-day, They find the red cup-moss where they climb, And they chase the bee o'er the scented thyme; And the rocks where the heath-flower blooms they know Lady, kind lady! oh! let me go." “ Content thee, boy ! in my bower to dwell, Here are sweet sounds which thou lovest well; Flutes on the air in the stilly noon, Harps which the wandering breezes tune; And the silvery wood-note of many a bird, Whose voi ce was ne'er in thy mountains heard." “My mother sings, at the twilight's fall, A song of the hills far more sweet than all ; She sings it under our own green tree, To the babe half slumbering on her knee; I dreamt last night of that music lowLady, kind lady? oh! let me go."



Thy mother is gone from her cares to rest,
She hath taken the babe on her quiet breast ;
Thou wouldst meet her footstep, my boy, no more,
Nor hear her song at the cabin door.
-Come thou with me to the vineyards nigh,
And we'll pluck the grapes of the richest dye.”
“ Is my mother gone from her home away?
-But I know that my brothers are there at play.
I know they are gathering the fox-glove's bell,
Or the long fern-leaves by the sparkling well,
Or they launch their boats where the bright streams flow
Lady, kind lady! oh! let me go."
“Fair child! thy brothers are wanderers now,
They sport no more on the mountain's brow,
They have left the fern by the spring's green side,
And the streams where the fairy barks were tried.
-Be thou at peace in thy brighter lot,
For thy cabin-home is a lonely spot.
" Are they gone,


gone from the sunny hill?
-But the bird and the blue-fly rove o'er it still,
And the red-deer bound in their gladness free,
And the turf is bent by the singing bee,
And the waters leap, and the fresh winds blow
Lady, kind lady! oh! let me go."


-" Thou shalt lie down
With patriarchs of the infant world-with kings,
The powerful of the earth-the wise, the good,
Fair forms, and hoary seers of ages past,
All in one mighty sepulchre.'


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And shrink ye from the way

To the spirit's distant shore ?
Earth's mightiest men, in armed array,

Are thither gone before.
The warrior kings, whose banner

Flew far as eagles fly,
They are gone where swords avail them not,
From the feast of victory.



And the seers who sat of yore

By orient palm or wave,
They have pass'd with all their starry lore-

Can ye still fear the grave ?
- We fear, we fear!- the sunshine

Is joyous to behold
And we reck not of the buried kings,

Or the awful seers of old.
Ye shrink !-the bards whose lays

Have made your deep hearts burn,
They have left the sun, and the voice of praise,

For the land whence none return:
And the lovely, whose memorial

Is the verse that cannot die,
They too are gone with their glorious bloom,

From the gaze of human eye.
Would ye not join that throng

Of the earth's departed flowers,
And the masters of the mighty song

In their far and fadeless bowers ?
Those songs are high and holy,

But they vanquish not our fear ;
Not from our path those flowers are gone-

We fain would linger here!
Linger then yet awhile,

As the last leaves on the bough!
-Ye have loved the gleam of many a smile

That is taken from you now.
There have been sweet singing voices

In your walks that now are still;
There are seats left void in your earthly homes,

Which none again may fill.
Soft eyes are seen no more

That made spring-time in your heart;
Kindred and friends are gone before,—

And ye still fear to part ?
-We fear not now, we fear not!

Though the way through darkness bends;
Our souls are strong to follow them,

Our own familiar friends!

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