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Stood that old widow woman with the rest,
Watching the ship wherein had sailed her son.
A boat came from that vessel, --heavily
It toiled


the waters, and the oars Were dipped in slowly. As it neared the beach, A moaning sound came from it, and a groan Burst from the lips of all the anxious there, When they looked on each ghastly countenance, For that lone boat was filled with wounded men, Bearing them to the hospital—and then That aged woman saw her son.

She prayed, And gained her prayer, that she might be his nurse, And take him home. He lived for many days, It soothed him so to hear his mother's voice, To breathe the fragrant air sent from the roses The roses that were gathered one by one For him by his fond parent nurse : the last Was placed upon his pillow, and that night, That very night, he died ! And he was laid In the same church-yard where his father layThrough which his mother as a bride had passed. The

grave was closed : but still the widow sat Upon a sod beside, and silently (Hers was not grief that words had comfort for) The funeral train passed on, and she was left Alone amid the tombs ; but once she looked

Towards the shadowy lane, then turned again,
As desolate and sick at heart, to where
Her help, her hope, her child, lay dead together
She went home to her lonely room. Next morn
Some entered it, and there she sat,
Her white hair hanging o'er the withered hands
On which her pale face leant: the Bible lay
Open beside, but blistered were the leaves
With two or three large tears, which had dried in.
Oh, happy she had not survived her child !
And many pitied her, for she had spent
Her little savings, and she had no friends :
But strangers made her grave in that church-yard,
And where her sailor slept, there slept his mother !

Miss L. E. Landon.


It comes-it comes upon the gale,

That pensive voice of days gone past,
With early feelings down life's vale,

On Arab airs as odours sigh.

Oh! on this far and foreign shore,

How doubly blest that song appears ; Long days and distance wafting o'er

The sweetness of departed years.

The scene around me fades away,

As at the wave of magic wandI the glens, and mountains grey;

And wild woods of my native land.


The summer bower, the silent stream,

The scenes of youth, are on the strain ; And peopled in my waking dream

With forms I ne'er shall see again.

As on my wanderings when a child,

That music comes at close of day, Along the dim and distant wild,

And wafts my spirit far away.

And on the heart as it distils,

Dear as the dew drop to the leaf, Oh how the rising bosom thrills

Beneath the mystic joy of grief.

So sweet--so hallowed 'tis to feel

The gentle woe that wakes thy sigh,
That e'en in heaven, methinks 'twill steal

Upon the spirit's dream of joy!

But bark !--that soothing strain is o'er,

And broken is the lovely spell ;
So fades from off our native shore,
The accents of a friend's farewell.

John Malcolm, Esq.


Through many a land and clime a ranger,

With toilsome steps I've held my way, A lonely unprotected stranger,

To all the stranger's ills a prey.

While steering thus my course precarious,

My fortune still has been to find Men's hearts and dispositions various,

But gentle woman, ever kind.

Alive to every tender feeling,

To deeds of mercy ever prone ;
The wounds of pain and sorrow healing

With soft compassion's sweetest tone.

No proud delay, no dark suspicion,

Stints the free bounty of their heart ; They turn not from the sad petition,

But cheerful aid at once impart.

Formed in benevolence of nature,

Obliging, modest, gay, and mild, Woman's the same endearing creature,

In courtly town and savage wild.

When parched with thirst, with hunger wasted,

Her friendly hand refreshment gave; How sweet the coarsest food has tasted,

What cordial in the simple wave!

Her courteous looks, her words caressing,

Shed comfort on the fainting soul : Woman's the stranger's general blessing, From sultry India to the Pole !


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