Sivut kuvina

He springs from his hammock-he flies to the deck;

Amazement confronts him with images dire ;Wild winds and mad waves drive the vessel a wreck,

The masts fly in splinters—the shrouds are on fire!

Like mountains the billows tumultuously swell,

In vain the lost wretch calls on mercy to save; Unseen hands of spirits are ringing his knell, And the Death-Angel flaps his broad wings o'er the


Oh, Sailor boy! wo to thy dream of delight!

In darkness dissolves the gay frost-work of bliss ; Where 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 unhonoured, 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 roll ; Earth loses thy pattern for ever and aye- .

Oh, Sailor boy! Sailor boy! peace to thy soul!


Jacob, I do not love to see thy nose
Turned up in scornful curve at yonder pig.
It would be well, my friend, if we, like him,
Were perfect in our kind. And why despise
The sow-born grunter? He is obstinate,
Thou answerest; ugly; and the filthiest beast
That banquets upon offal. Now I pray thee
Hear the pig's counsel.

Is he obstinate?
We must not, Jacob, be deceived by words,
By sophist sounds. A democratic beast,
He knows that his unmerciful drivers seek
Their profit and not his. He hath not learned
That pigs were made for man, born to be brawned
And baconized. And for his ugliness-
Nay, Jacob, look at him;
Those eyes have taught the lover flattery.
Behold his tail, my friend; with curls like that
The wanton hop marries her stately spouse :
And what is beauty but the aptitude
of parts harmonious ? give thy fancy scope,
And thou wilt find that no imagined change
Can beautify the beast. All would but mar
His pig perfection.

The last charge,-he lives
A dirty life. Here I could shelter him
With precedents right reverend and noble,
And show by sanction of authority
That 'tis a very honourable thing
To thrive by dirty ways. But let me rest
On better ground the unanswerable defence.
The pig is a philosopher, who knows
No prejudice. Dirt ? Jacob, what is dirt ?

If matter, why the delicate dish that tempts
The o'ergorged epicure is nothing more.
And there, that breeze
Pleads with me, and has won thee to the smile
That speaks conviction. O'er yon blossomed field
Of beans it came, and thoughts of bacon rise.


I Love Thee, O my native Isle !
Dear as my mother's earliest smile ;
Sweet as my father's voice to me
Is all I hear, and all I see,
When, glancing o'er thy beauteous land,
In view thy Public Virtues stand,
The Guardian-angels of thy coast,
Who watch the dear domestic Host,
The Heart's Affections, pleased to roam
Around the quiet heaven of Home.

I love Thee,—when I mark thy soil
Flourish beneath the peasant's toil,
And from its lap of verdure throw
Treasures which neither Indies know.
- I love Thee,—when I hear around
Thy looms, and wheels, and anvils sound,
Thine engines heaving all their force,
Thy waters labouring on their course,
And arts, and industry, and wealth
Exulting in the joys of health.

I love Thee,—when I trace thy tale
To the dim point where records fail ;

Thy deeds of old renown inspire
My bosom with our father's fire ;
A proud inheritance I claim
In all their sufferings, all their fame;
Nor less delighted, when I stray
Down History's lengthening, widening way,
And hail Thee in thy present hour,
From the meridian arch of power,
Shedding the lustre of thy reign,
Like sunshine, over land and main.

I love Thee, when I read the lays
Of British bards, in elder days,
Till, rapt on visionary wings,
High o'er thy cliffs my spirit sings ;
For I, amidst thy living choir,
I, too, can touch the sacred lyre.

I love Thee,—when I contemplate
The full-orbed grandeur of thy state;
Thy laws and liberties, taht rise,
Man's noblest works beneath the skies,
To which the Pyramids are tame,
And Grecian Temples bow their fame :
These, thine immortal sages wrought
Out of the deepest mines of thought;
These, on the scaffold, in the field,
Thy warriors won, thy patriots sealed ;
These, at the parricidal pyre,
Thy martyrs sanctified in fire ;
And, with the generous blood they spilt,
Washed from thy soil their murderers' guilt,
Cancelled the curse which Vengeance sped,
And left a blessing in its stead.
-Can words, can numbers count the price,
Paid for this little Paradise ?
Never, oh! never be it lost;
The land is worth the price it cost.

I love Thee, when thy Sabbath dawns O’er woods and mountains, dales and lawns, And streams, that sparkle while they run, As if their fountain were the Sun : When, hand in hand, thy tribes repair, Each to their chosen house of prayer, And all in


and freedom call On Him, who is the Lord of all.

I love Thee,—when my soul can feel
The seraph-ardours of thy zeal:
Thy charities, to none confined,
Bless, like the sun, the rain, the wind ;
Thy schools the human brute shall raise,
Guide erring youth in wisdom's ways,
And leave, when we are turned to dust,
A generation of the just.

I love Thee, when I see thee stand
The hope of every other land;
A sea-mark in the tide of time;
Rearing to heaven thy brow sublime;
Whence beams of Gospel-splendour shed
A sacred halo round thine head;
And Gentiles from afar behold,
(Not as on Sinai's rocks of old,)
GOD,-- from eternity concealed,
In his own light, on Thee revealed.

I love Thee,--when I hear thy voice
Bid a despairing world rejoice,
And loud from shore to shore proclaim,
In every tongue, Messiah's name;
That name, at which, from sea to sea,
All nations yet shall bow the knee.

I love Thee :-next to heaven above,
Land of my fathers ! thee I love;

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