Can you forget me? My whole soul was blended; At least it sought to blend itself with thine; My life's whole purpose, winning thee, seem'd ended;

Thou wert my heart's sweet home-my spirit's shrine.

Can you forget me?—when the firelight burning,

Flung sudden gleams around the quiet room, How would thy words, to long past moments turning,

Trust me with thoughts soft as the shadowy gloom!

Can you forget them?

There is no truth in love, whate'er its seeming, And heaven itself could scarcely seem more

true

Sadly have I awaken'd from the dreaming, Whose charm'd slumber-false one!-was of you.

I gave mine inmost being to thy keeping-
I had no thought I did not seek to share;
Feelings that hush'd within my soul were sleeping,
Waked into voice, to trust them to thy care.
Can you forget them?

Can you forget me? This is vainly tasking
The faithless heart where I, alas! am not.
Too well I know the idleness of asking-
The misery-of why am I forgot?

The happy hours that I have pass'd while kneeling

Half slave, half child, to gaze upon thy face. -But what to thee this passionate appealingLet my heart break-it is a common case. You have forgotten me.

DR. MORRISON AND HIS CHINESE ATTENDANTS.

THEY bend above the page with anxious eyes,
Devoutly listening to the sacred words
Which have awaken'd all the spirit-chords
Whose music dwells in the eternal skies.
And still their teacher hope and aid supplies.
For those dark priests are God's own messengers,
To bring their land glad tidings from above,
And to the creed that in its darkness errs,

To teach the words of truth and Christian love.

Blessings be on their pathway, and increase!

These are the moral conquerors, and belong To them the palm-branch and triumphal

song

Conquerors, and yet the harbingers of peace.

Already much for man has been effected;

The weak and poor man's cause
Is strengthen'd by the laws,

The equal right, born with us, all respected.

But much awaits, O England! thy redressing; Thou hast no nobler guide

Than yon bright river's tide:

Bear as that bears-where'er thou goest, blessing!*

KALENDRIA;

A PORT IN CILICIA.

Do you see yon vessel riding,

Anchor'd in our island bay, Like a sleeping sea-bird biding

For the morrow's onward way? See her white wings folded round her

As she rocks upon the deep; Slumber with a spell hath bound her, With a spell of peace and sleep.

Seems she not as if enchanted
To that lone and lovely place,
Henceforth ever to be haunted

By that sweet ship's shadowy grace.
Yet, come here again to-morrow,

Not a vestige will remain,

Though those sweet eyes strain in sorrow, They will search the sea in vain.

"Twas for this I bade thee meet me,
For a parting word and tear;
Other lands and lips may greet me;
None will ever seem so dear.
Other lands-I may say, other-
Mine again I shall not see;
I have left mine aged mother,
She has other sons than me.

Where my father's bones are lying,

There mine own will never lie; Where the myrtle groves are sighing,

Soft beneath our summer sky. Mine will be a wilder ending,

Mine will be a wilder grave, Where the shriek and shout are blending, Or the tempest sweeps the wave.

• Will General Fagan permit me to quote an expression of his which struck me most forcibly?- "We have," said he, "been the conquerors of India: we have now to be its benefactors, its legislators, its instructors, and its liberators."

Mine may be a fate more lonely,

In some sick and foreign ward, Where my weary eyes meet only Hired nurse or sullen guard. Dearest maiden, thou art weeping; Must I from those eyes remove? Hath thy heart no soft pulse sleeping Which might ripen into love?

No! I see thy brow is frozen,

And thy look is cold and strange; Ah! when once the heart has chosen, Well I know it cannot change. And I know that heart has spoken That another's it must be. Scarce I wish that pure faith broken, Though the falsehood were for me. No: be still the guileless creature That upon my boyhood shone; Couldst thou change thy angel nature, Half my faith in heaven were gone. Still thy memory shall be cherish'd, Dear as it is now to me;

When all gentler thoughts have perish'd,
One shall linger yet for thee.
Farewell!-With those words I sever

Every tie of youth and home;
Thou, fair isle! adicu for ever!

See, a boat cuts through the foam.
Wind, time, tide, alike are pressing,
I must hasten from the shore.
One first kiss, and one last blessing-
Farewell, love! we meet no more.

INFANTICIDE IN MADAGASCAR

A LUXURY of summer green

Is on the southern plain,

And water-flags, with dewy screen,
Protect the ripening grain.
Upon the sky is not a cloud

To mar the golden glow,
Only the palm-tree is allow'd

To fling its shade below.
And silvery, 'mid its fertile brakes,
The winding river glides,
And every ray in heaven makes

Its mirror of its tides.

And yet it is a place of death

A place of sacrifice;

Heavy with childhood's parting breath
Weary with childhood's cries.

The mother takes her little child-
Its face is like her own;
The cradle of her choice is wild-
Why is it left alone?

Not for myself I call the ether-born,

FLING wide the sacred city gates,

Wide on the open air;

A higher Conqueror awaits

Than he whose name they bear.

Wholly and bitterly am I forlorn.

Dearly is bought the empire of the mind; It sitteth on a sullen throne, designed

To elevate and part it from its kind.

Long years my stricken soul has turn'd away From the sweet dreams that round my childhood lay:

Would it still own'd their false but lovely sway!

In the dark grave of unbelief they rest,
Worthless they were, and hollow, while possest.
I am alone-unblessing, and unblest!

Knowledge is with me-guest that once received,
Love, hope, ambition, are no more believed;
And we disdain what formerly had grieved.

A few fair flowers around their colours fling,
But what does questioning their sources bring?
That from corruption and from death they spring.

"Tis thus with those sweet dreams which life begin,
We weary of them, and we look within:
What do we find? Guile, suffering, and sin.

I know my kind too well not to despise
The gilded sophistry that round it lies:
Hate, sorrow, falsehood-mocking their disguise.

O, thou old world! so full of guilt and cares,
So mean, so small-I marvel heaven bears
Thy struggle, which the seeing almost shares.

Yet, mine ancestral city, for thy sake
A lingering interest on this earth I take;
In the dim midnight 'tis for thee I wake.

Softly the starlight falleth over fanes
That rise above thy myrtle-wooded plains,
Where summer hath her loveliest domains.

Beneath, the gardens spread their pleasant shade, The lutes are hush'd that twilight music made, Sleep on the world her honey-spell hath laid.

Sweet come the winds that o'er these flower beds

rove,

I only breathe the perfumes that ye love. Spirits! my incense summons ye above.

What of yon stately city, where are shrined
The warrior's and the poet's wreath combined-
All the high honours of the human mind!

Her walls are bright with colours, whose fine dyes
Imbody shapes that seem from yonder skies,
And in her scrolls the world's deep wisdom lies.

What of her future?-Through the silvery smoke

I see the distant vision I invoke.

These glorious walls have bow'd to Time's dark yoke.

I see a plain of desert sand extend,

Scatter'd with ruins where the wild flowers bend, And the green ivy, like a last sad friend.

Low are the marble columns on the sand,
The palm trees that have grown among them stand
As if they mock'd the fallen of the land.

Hence, ye dark Spirits! bear the dream away;
To-morrow but repeateth yesterday:
First, toil-then, desolation and decay.

Life has one vast stern likeness in its gloom,
We toil with hopes that must themselves con-

sume

The wide world round us is one mighty tomb.

GIBRALTAR.

FROM THE QUEEN OF SPAIN'S CHAIR.

HIGH on the rock that fronts the sea
Stands alone our fortress key
Ladye of the southern main,
Ladye, too, of stately Spain.
Look which way her eye she bends,
Where'er she will her sway extends.
Free on air her banner thrown,
Half the world it calls its own.

Let her look upon the strand-
Never was more lovely land:
Had her rule dominion there,
It were free as it is fair.

Let her look across the waves,
They are but her noblest slaves;
Sweeping north or south, they still
Bear around her wealth and will.

Siege and strife these walls have borne,

By the red artillery torn ;
Human life has pour'd its tide
In the galleries at her side.

But the flag that o'er her blows
Rival nor successor knows.
Lonely on the land and sea,
Where it has been, it will be.

Safe upon her sea-beat rock,
She might brave an army's shock:
For the British banner keeps
Safe the fortress where it sweeps.

THE RIVER WEAR.

COME back, come back, my childhood,

To the old familiar spot, Whose wild flowers, and whose wild wood Have never been forgot.

Farewell, sweet river! ever

Wilt thou be dear to me; I can repay thee never

One half I owe to thee. Around thy banks are lying Nature's diviner part, And thou dost keep undying My childhood at my heart.

CORFU.

O, LOVELY isle! that, like a child,
Art sleeping on the sea,
Amid whose hair the wind is wild,
And on whose cheek the sun has smiled
As there it loved to be.

How fair thou art, how very fair,
A lone and lovely dream,
That sprung on the enchanted air,
A fairy likeness seems to wear,
A fairy world to seem.

Thou bringest to me a pleasant mood
Of fanciful delight:

To me thou art a solitude
Known only to the sea bird's brood,
And to the stars at night.

I should so like to have thee mine,
Mine own-my very own,
The shadows of thy sweeping vine,
Wherein the scarlet creepers twine,

Broken by me alone.

I would not have a footstep trace
Thy solitary shore:

No human voice-no human face
Should trouble my sweet resting place
With memories of yore.

I would forget the wretched years
Pass'd in this world of ours,
Where weary cares and feverish fears,
Ending alike in bitter tears,

Darken the heavy hours.

But I would dwell beside the sea,
And of the scatter'd shells
Ask, when they murmur mournfully,
What sorrow in the past may be,

Of which their music tells.

Winds, waves, and breathing shells are sad—

Methinks I should repine,

If their low tones were only glad,
"Twould seem too much as if they had

No sympathy for mine.