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The heart of the sleeper beats high in his breast,
Joy quickens his pulse--all hardships seem o'er, And a murmur of happiness steals through his rest
“Oh God thou hast blest me—I ask for no more."
Ah! what is that flame, which now bursts on his eye?
Ah! what is that sound which now larums his ear? 'Tis the lightning's red glare, painting hell on the sky!
'Tis the crash of the thunder, the groan of the sphere!
He springs from his hammock-he flies to the deck ;
Amazement confronts him with images direWild winds and waves drive the vessel a wreck
The masts fly in splinters—the shrouds are on fire!
Like mountains the billows tremendously swell
In vain the lost wretch calls on Mary to save; Unseen hands of spirits are ringing his knell,
And the death-angel flaps his broad wing o'er the wave!
Oh! sailor-boy, wo to thy dream of delight!
In darkness dissolves the gay frost-work of blissWhere now is the picture that fancy touched bright,
Thy parent's fond pressure, and love's honeyed kiss ?
Oh! sailor-boy! sailor-boy! never again
Shall home, love, or kindred, thy wishes repay; Unblessed and unhonored, down deep in the main,
Full many a score fathom, thy frame shall decay.
No tomb shall e'er plead to remembrance for thee,
Or redeem form or frame from the merciless surge : But the white foam of waves shall thy winding-sheet be,
And winds, in the midnight of winter, thy dirge.
On beds of green sea-flower thy limbs shall be laid;
Around thy white bones the red coral shall grow; Of thy fair yellow locks threads of amber be made,
And every part suit to thy mansion below.
Days, months, years, and ages, shall circle away,
And still the vast waters above thee shall rollEarth loses thy pattern for ever and aye
Oh! sailor-boy! sailor-boy! peace to thy soul.
35. THE NEGLECTED CHILD.—Bayly.
My mother never smiled
That blessed her fairer child.
While fondled on her knee ;
There was no kiss for me!
My little store of sense ;
Can rarely give offense.
A cold, ungentle check,
In tears, upon her neck.
Love watches o'er their birth; Oh beauty! in my nursery
I learned to know thy worth :For even there, I often felt
Forsaken and forlorn, And wished
for others wished it too I never had been born! I'm sure I was affectionate,
But in my sister's face,
A smile, or an embrace.
The pressure children prize,
They spoke not in my eyes.
The anguish of neglect;
With gems and roses decked;
When wantonly reproved,
Of being so beloved.
But soon a time of triumph came
A time of sorrow too,
Her venomed mantle threw :
Now wore the hue of death ;
From her infectious breath.
I watched beside her bed,
My grief was at an end;
But now I have a friend!
Now stood Eliza on the wood-crowned height,
A ball now hisses through the airy tides,
Oh, cease not yet to beat, thou vital urn!
From tent to tent the impatient warrior flies,
Speak low,” he cries, and gives his little hand,
BETH-GELERT; OR, THE DEATH OF THE GRAYHOUND.
The spearmen heard the bugle sound,
And cheerly smiled the morn,
But when he gained his castle door,
Aghast the chieftain stood,
gore, His lips, his fangs, ran blood.
Llewellyn gazed with much surprise,
Unused such looks to meet,
And crouched and licked his feet.
Onward in haste Llewellyn past,
And on went Gelert too, And still where'er his
he cast Fresh blood-gouts shocked his view.
O’erturned his infant's bed he found,
With blood-stained covert rent,
With recent blood besprent.!