TO THOMAS MOORE.

My boat is on the shore,

And my bark is on the sea; But, before I go, Tom Moore,

Here's a double health to thee!

Here's a sigh to those who love me,
And a smile to those who hate;
And, whatever sky 's above me,
Here's a heart for every fate.

Though the ocean roar around me,
Yet it still shall bear me on;
Though a desert should surround me,
It hath springs which may be won.

Were 't the last drop in the well,
As I gasped upon the brink,

Ere my fainting spirit fell,

'Tis to thee that I would drink.

With that water as this wine,

The libation I would pour

Should be

peace with thine and mine,

And a health to thee, Tom Moore.

THE MUTINEERS OF THE BOUNTY AFTER THEIR DEFEAT.

STERN, and aloof a little from the rest,

Stood Christian, with his arms across his chest,
The ruddy, reckless, dauntless hue once spread
Along his cheek was livid now as lead;

His light brown locks, so graceful in their flow,
Now rose like startled vipers o'er his brow.
Still as a statue, with his lips comprest
To stifle even the breath within his breast,
Fast by the rock, all menacing, but mute,
He stood; and, save a slight beat of his foot,
Which deepened now and then the sandy dint
Beneath his heel, his form seemed turned to flint.
Some paces further Torquil leaned his head
Against a bank, and spoke not, but he bled,-
Not mortally his worst wound was within:
His brow was pale, his blue eyes sunken in,
And blood-drops, sprinkled o'er his yellow hair,
Showed that his faintness came not from despair,
But nature's ebb. Beside him was another,
Rough as a bear, but willing as a brother,-
Ben Bunting, who essayed to wash, and wipe,
And bind his wound- then calmly lit his pipe,
A trophy which survived a hundred fights,

A beacon which had cheered ten thousand nights.
The fourth and last of this deserted group

Walked up and down-at times would stand, then stoop

--

To pick a pebble up - then let it drop -
Then hurry as in haste then quickly stop -
Then cast his eyes on his companions — then
Half whistle half a tune, and pause again—
And then his former movements would redouble,
With something between carelessness and trouble:
This is a long description, but applies

To scarce five minutes passed before the eyes;
But yet what minutes! Moments like to these
Rend men's lives into immortalities.

TO A LADY WEEPING.

WEEP, daughter of a royal line,
A Sire's disgrace, a realm's decay:
Ah, happy! if each tear of thine
Could wash a father's fault away!

Weep

- for thy tears are Virtue's tears,
Auspicious to these suffering isles;
And be each drop in future years
Repaid thee by the people's smiles!

THE EAST.

KNOW ye the land where the cypress and myrtle

Are emblems of deeds that are done in their clime, Where the rage of the vulture, the love of the turtle, Now melt into sorrow, now madden to crime? Know ye the land of the cedar and vine, Where the flowers ever blossom, the beams ever shine; Where the light wings of Zephyr, oppressed with perfume Wax faint o'er the gardens of Gull in her bloom; Where the citron and olive are fairest of fruit, And the voice of the nightingale never is mute;

Where the tints of the earth, and the hues of the sky,
In color though varied, in beauty may vie,

And the purple of ocean is deepest in dye;
Where the virgins are soft as the roses they twine,
And all, save the spirit of man, is divine?

-

"Tis the clime of the East; 'tis the land of the Sun Can he smile on such deeds as his children have done? Oh! wild as the accents of lovers' farewell

Are the hearts which they bear, and the tales which they tell.

31*

ADIEU, thou Hill! where early joy
Spread roses o'er my brow;

Where Seience seeks each loitering boy
With knowledge to endow.

Adieu, my youthful friends or foes,
Partners of former bliss or woes;

No more through Ida's paths we stray;
Soon must I share the gloomy cell,
Whose ever slumbering inmates dwell,
Unconscious of the day.

Adieu, ye hoary Regal Fanes,

Ye spires of Granta's vale,

Where Learning robed in sable reigns,

And Melancholy pale.

Ye comrades of the jovial hour,
Ye tenants of the classic bower,

On Cama's verdant margin placed,
Adieu! while memory still is mine,
For offerings on Oblivion's shrine,
These scenes must be effaced,