64

LAYS OF MANY LANDS.

But I depart like sound, like dew, like aught that leaves on

earth

No trace of sorrow or delight, no memory of its birth!
I go!--the echo of the rock a thousand songs may swell
When mine is a forgotten voice.-Woods, mountains, home,
farewell!

"And farewell, mother!—I have borne in lonely silence long, But now the current of my soul grows passionate and strong And I will speak! though but the wind that wanders through the sky

And but the dark deep-rustling pines and rolling streams reply.

Yes! I will speak!—within my breast whate'er hath seem'd to be,

There lay a hidden fount of love, that would have gush'd for thee!

Brightly it would have gush'd, but thou, my mother! thou hast thrown

Back on the forests and the wilds what should have been thine own!

"Then fare thee well! I leave thee not in loneliness to pine, Since thou hast sons of statelier mien and fairer brow than

mine!

Forgive me that thou couldst not love!-it may be, that a

tone

Yet from my burning heart may pierce, through thine, when I am gone!

And thou perchance may'st weep for him on whom thou ne'er hast smiled,

And the grave give his birthright back to thy neglected child! Might but my spirit then return, and 'midst its kindred dwell, And quench its thirst with love's free tears!-'tis all a dream -farewell!"

"Farewell!"-the echo died with that deep word,
Yet died not so the late repentant pang

By the strain quicken'd in the mother's breast!
There had pass'd many changes o'er her brow,
And cheek, and eye; but into one bright flood
Of tears at last all melted; and she fell
On the glad bosom of her child, and cried
"Return, return, my son !"-the echo caught
A lovelier sound than song, and woke again,
Murmuring "Return, my son !"

THE SULIOTE MOTHER.

It is related in a French Life of Ali Pacha, that several of the Suliote women, on the advance of the Turkish troops into their mountain fastnesses, assembled on a lofty summit, and, after chanting a wild song, precipitated themselves, with their children, into the chasm below, to avoid becoming the slaves of the enemy.

SHE stood upon the loftiest peak,
Amidst the clear blue sky,
A bitter smile was on her cheek,
And a dark flash in her eye.

"Dost thou see them, boy?—through the dusky pines
Dost thou see where the foeman's armour shines?
Hast thou caught the gleam of the conqueror's crest?
My babe, that I cradled on my breast!

Wouldst thou spring from thy mother's arms with joy?
That sight hath cost thee a father, boy!"

For in the rocky strait beneath,
Lay Suliote, sire and son ;

They had heap'd high the piles of death
Before the pass was won.

"They have cross'd the torrent, and on they come !
Who for the mountain hearth and home!
There, where the hunter laid by his spear,
There, where the lyre hath been sweet to hear,
There, where I sang thee, fair babe! to sleep,
Naught but the blood-stain our trace shall keep!"

And now the horn's loud blast was heard,
And now the cymbal's clang,

Till ev'n the upper air was stirr'd

As cliff and hollow rang.

"Hark! they bring music, my joyous child!
What saith the trumpet to Suli's wild?
Doth it light thine eye with so quick a fire,
As if at a glance of thine armed sire?

-Still!-be thou still!-there are brave men low

Thou wouldst not smile couldst thou see him now!"

But nearer came the clash of steel,
And louder swell'd the horn,
And farther yet the tambour's peal
Through the dark pass was borne.

66

LAYS OF MANY LANDS.

"Hear'st thou the sound of their savage mirth?
-Boy! thou wert free when I gave thee birth,
Free, and how cherish'd, my warrior's son !
He too hath bless'd thee, as I have done!
Ay, and unchain'd must his loved ones be-
Freedom, young Suliote! for thee and me!"
And from the arrowy peak she spruug,
And fast the fair child bore,
A veil upon the wind was flung,
A cry-and all was o'er !

THE FAREWELL TO THE DEAD.

The following piece is founded on a beautiful part of the Greek funeral service in which relatives and friends are invited to embrace the deceased (whose face is uncovered) and to bid their final adieu. See Christian Researches in the Mediterranean.

'Tis hard to lay into the earth

A countenance so benign! a form that walk'd
But yesterday so stately o'er the earth!

COME near!-ere yet the dust,

Soil the bright paleness of the settled brow,
Look on your brother, and embrace him now,
In still and solemn trust!

1

Come near!-once more let kindred lips be press'd
On his cold cheek; then bear him to his rest!

Look yet on this young face!

What shall the beauty, from among us gone,
Leave of its image, e'en where most it sh one,
Gladdening its hearth and race?

Wilson.

Din grows the semblance on man's heart impress'd---·
Come near,
and bear the beautiful to rest!

Ye weep, and it is well!

For tears befit earth's partings!-Yesterday,
Song was upon the lips of this pale clay,

And sunshine seem'd to dwell

Where'er he moved-the welcome and the bless'd!
-Now gaze! and bear the silent unto rest!

Look yet on him, whose eye

Meets yours no more, in sadness or in mirth!
Was he not fair amidst the sons of earth,

The beings born to die?

-But not where death has power may love be bless'd-
Come near! and bear ye the beloved to rest!

How may the mother's heart
Dwell on her son, and dare to hope again?
The spring's rich promise hath been given in vain,
The lovely must depart!

Is he not gone, our brightest and our best?
Come near! and bear the early-call'd to rest!

Look on him! is he laid

To slumber from the harvest or the chase?
-Too still and sad the smile upon his face,
Yet that, ev'n that, must fade!

Death holds not long unchang'd his fairest guest,-
Come near! and bear the mortal to his rest!

His voice of mirth had ceased

Amidst the vineyards! there is left no place
For him whose dust receives your vain embrace,
At the gay bridal feast!

Earth must take earth to moulder on her breast;
Come near! weep o'er him! bear him to his rest!
Yet mourn ye not as they

Whose spirit's light is quench'd !-for him the past
Is seal'd. He may not fall, he may not cast
His birthright's hope away!

All is not here of our beloved and bless'd---
-Leave ye the sleeper with his God to rest!

MISCELLANEOUS POEMS.

THE TREASURES OF THE DEEP.

WHAT hid'st thou in thy treasure-caves and cells?
Thou hollow-sounding and mysterious main!
-Pale glistening pearls, and rainbow-colour'd shells,
Bright things which gleam unreck'd-of, and in vain!
-Keep, keep thy riches, melancholy sea!

We ask not such from thee.

Yet more, the depths have more!-what wealth untold,
Far down, and shining through their stillness lies!
Thou hast the starry gems, the burning gold,
Won from ten thousand royal Argosies!

-Sweep o'er thy spoils, thou wild and wrathful main !
Earth claims not these again.

Yet more, the depths have more! thy waves have roll'd
Above the cities of a world gone by!

Sand hath fill'd up the palaces of old,
Sea-weed o'ergrown the halls of revelry.
-Dash o'er them, ocean! in thy scornful play!
Man yields them to decay.

Yet more! the billows and the depths have more!
High hearts and brave are gather'd to thy breast!
They hear not now the booming waters roar,
The battle-thunders will not break their rest.
-Keep thy red gold and gems, thou stormy grave!
Give back the true and brave!

Give back the lost and lovely!-those for whom
The place was kept at board and hearth so long,
The prayer went up through midnight's breathless gloom,
And the vain yearning woke 'midst festal song!
Hold fast thy buried isles, thy towers o'erthrown--
But all is not thine own.