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Breathed from the ocean of eternity !
What were the world without this holy book,
THE SAILOR'S DEATHBED.
Written on hearing of the Death of H. N. DALLAS, Esq. on board
of the Lady Melville, East Indiaman, in Sangor Bay.
At evening when the sun went down,
And the wooded shores grew dark,
In the heavens, and the anchored bark
While yet the gleam of the shrinking day
Through our cabin lattice shone,
To gaze on the dying one.
The landward breezes had cooled the air,
And he lifted his languid head,
That light on the sea was shed ;
Oh! recollection was busy then
In his young and faithful heart,
He turned from his home to part.
And a troubled joy seemed yet to flow
From the thought of his youth's glad hours ; And a smile passed over his wasted brow
Like the sun o'er withered flowers. And his burning hands o'er his eyelids passed, To crush the tears that had sprung at last.
With feeble aim he raised his hand,
And pointed towards the west, Where the blue hills of his native land,
And the objects loved the best, Seemed still to rise on memory, And feed the light of his dying eye.
That mute request too well we knew,
And our plighted words we passed, That his loved of home should learn how true
His heart was till the last,
That his mother might ponder with grateful joy
We spoke--as the sound of the evening gun
Came onward from the shore ;
Who could hear that sound no more.
A. B. P.
THE HOME FEVER.
[From the Manuseript of a Volume of Original Poems which will
shortly be published.]
We sat in a green verandah's shade
Where the verdant 'tye tye' twined
A harp for the cool sea wind,
And that wind, with its tale of flowers, bad come
From the island groves away,
To the beach came wearily,
We sat alone in the trelliced bower,
And gazed o'er the darkening deep, And the holy calm of that twilight hour
Came over our hearts like sleep, And we dreamt of the banks and bonny braes’ That had gladdened our childhood's careless days.
And he—the friend at my side that sate,
Was a boy whose path had gone 'Mid the fields and the flowers of joy—that Fate,
Like a mother had smiled upon; But alas ! for the time when our hopes have wings, And when memory to grief, like a Syren sings.
His home had been on the stormy shore
Of Albyn's mountain land,
And he loved the bleak sea sand,