Earth's cultureless buds! to my heart ye were dear
Ere the fever of passion, or ague of fear,

Had scath'd my existence's bloom;

Once I welcome you more, in life's passionless stage
With the visions of youth to revisit my age,
And I wish you to grow on my tomb.

LINES TO A YOUNG LADY,

ON HER MARRIAGE.

BY G. M. FITZGERALD.

THEY tell me, gentle lady, that they deck thee for a bride,
That the wreath is woven for thy hair, the bridegroom by thy side;
And I think I hear thy father's sigh, thy mother's calmer tone,
As they give thee to another's arms- their beautiful -

I never saw a bridal, but my eyelid hath been wet,

their own.

And it always seem'd to me as though a joyous crowd were met
To see the saddest sight of all, a gay and girlish thing

Lay aside her maiden gladness

for a name- - and for a ring.

And other cares will claim thy thoughts, and other hearts thy love,
And gayer friends may be around, and bluer skies above;
Yet thou, when I behold thee next, may'st wear upon thy brow,
Perchance, a mother's look of care, for that which decks it now.

And when I think how often I have seen thee, with thy mild
And lovely look, and step of air, and bearing like a child,

Oh! how mournfully, how mournfully the thought comes o'er my brain,
When I think thou ne'er may'st be that free and girlish thing again.

I would that, as my heart dictates, just such might be my lay,
And my voice should be a voice of mirth, a music like the May;
But it may not be ! within my breast all frozen are the springs,
The murmur dies upon the lip -- the music on the strings.

But a voice is floating round me, and it tells me in my rest,
That sunshine shall illume thy path, that joy shall be thy guest,
That thy life shall be a summer's day, whose evening shall go down,
Like the evening in the eastern clime, that never knows a frown.

When thy foot is at the altar, when the ring hath press'd thy hand,
When those thou lov'st, and those that love thee, weeping round thee stand,
Oh! may the verse that friendship weaves, like a spirit of the air,
Be o'er thee at that moment - for a blessing and a prayer!

THE EAST INDIAMAN.

BY THE AUTHOR OF ROUGE ET NOIR.

How like a younker, or a prodigal,
The scarfed bark puts from her native bay,
Hugg'd and embraced by the strumpet wind!
How like the prodigal doth she return;
With over-weather'd ribs, and ragged sails,
Lean, rent, and beggar'd by the strumpet wind!
MERCHANT OF VENICE

AN anxious, lingering, perilous voyage past,
An India ship hail'd Albion's land at last!
Moor'd in the Downs, her mighty pinions close
Like some far flying bird that seeks repose
While, crowding on the deck, a hundred eyes
Turn'd shoreward-flash'd with pleasure and surprise.
That eve they anchor'd, from the horizon's hem
The virgin Moon, as if to welcome them,

Rose from her rest— - but would no more reveal
Than the faint outline of her pale profile :

Though soon (as maids forego their fears) she gave
Her orbed brow to kiss the wanton wave:
Till like a scornful lover, swoll'n with pride,
Because too fondly loved to be denied,

The rude wave spurn'd her off, and raised that loud
And angry blast that scream'd through sail and shroud,
The livelong night on which my harp is dwelling.
Meanwhile, the swarthy crew, each care dispelling,
Had sported thrice three summer suns away
Since they had cast their anchor in that bay.
Oh, none save Fortune's step-sons, doom'd to roam
The deep, can prize a harbour and a home!

The temperate breeze their sun-bronzed temples blessing-
A native shore the gladden'd eye refreshing -

The painted pinnace dancing from the land

Freighted with friends - the pressure of the hand,
Whose pulse throbs happy seconds -the warm gush
Of blood into the cheek, as it would rush
With the heart's welcome ere the tongue could half
Perform its office-feeling's telegraph!

Impassion❜d smiles, and tears of rapture starting —
Oh, how unlike the tears which fell at parting!

And all were theirs that good ship's gallant crew -
As though each joy which absence render'd due
Were paid in one bright moment: such are known
To those long sever'd, loving, loved, alone!

A gorgeous freight that broad-sail'd vessel bore
The blazing diamonds and the blushing ore;
Spices that sigh'd their incense, till the sails
Were fann'd along on aromatic gales

From Orient lands. Then marvel not if he
Who there is Chief should look exultingly
Back on the storms he baffled, and should know
The bosom's warmest wildest overflow

While gazing on the land which laugh'd before him -
The smooth sea round the blue pavilion o'er him!
Yet felt he more than ever sprang from these,
For love demanded deeper sympathies;
And long in lonely bower had sigh'd for him
A fond fair Bride, whose infant Cherubim
Oft spirit-clouded from its playthings crept,
To weep beside its mother while she wept.
But oh, they met at length! And such sweet days
Already proved, as leave a light that plays
Upon the memory when the warmth is gone.
The fount thus treasures sunbeams, and shines on
Through dusk and darkness. Like some happy mother,
Joy mark'd the hours pursuing one another

A wreath of buoyant angels! Yet as they

Wheel'd laughing round, oft sigh'd, to make them stay!

This was a day of banqueting on board;

And swan-wing'd barks, and barges many oar'd
Came crowded to the feast. The young-the gay -
The beautiful were there. Right merrily
The pleasure boats glide onward;
- with swift prow
The clear wave curling, till around each bow,
With frequent flash, the bright and feathery spray
Threw mimic rainbows at the sun in play.
The ship is won, the silken chair is lower'd-
Exulting Youth and Beauty bound on board:

And, while they wondering gaze on sail and shroud,
The flag flaps o'er them like a crimson cloud.

Young Pleasure kiss'd each heart! From Persia's loom
An ample awning spread its purple bloom

To canopy the guests; and vases, wreath'd

With deep-hued flowers and foliage, sweetly breathed
Their incense, fresh as zephyrs when they rove
Among the blossoms of a citron grove;
Soft sounds - (invisible spirits on the wing)
Were heard and felt around them hovering;
In short, some magic seem'd to sway the hour,
The wand-struck deck becomes an orient bower!
very wilderness of blushing roses,

A

Just such as Love would choose when he reposes.
The pendent orange, from a lush of leaves,
Hangs like Hesperian gold; and, tied in sheaves,
Carnations prop their triple coronals;

The grape, out-peeping from thick foliage, falls
Like cluster'd amethysts in deep festoons;

And shells are scatter'd round, which Indian moons

Had sheeted with the silver of their beams;

But oh, what, more than all, the scene beseems,

Fair, faultless forms, glide there with wing-like motion !
Bright as young Peris rising from the ocean!

Eve darken'd down -- and yet they were not gone;
The sky had changed, the sudden storm came on!

---

172

ONE waved on high a ruby sparkling bowl
(Youth, passion, wine, ran riot in his soul) -
"Fill to the brim," he cried; "let others peer
Their doubtful path to heaven; my heaven is here!
This hour is mine, and who can dash its bliss?
Fate dare not darken such an hour as this !"

-

Then stoop'd to quaff; - but (as a charm were thrown)
His hand, his lips, grew motionless as stone;
His drunkenness of heart no more deceives --
The thunder growls, the surge-smote vessel heaves;
And while aghast he stared, a hurrying squall
Rent the wide awning, and discover'd all!
Across their eyes the hissing lightning blazed
The black wave burst beside them as they gazed;
And dizzily the thick surf scatter'd o'er them;
And dim and distant loom'd the land before them;
No longer firm - th' eternal hills did leave
Their solid rest, and heaved, or seem'd to heave,
O, 't was an awful moment !-- for the crew
Had rashly, deeply drank, while yet they knew
No ruling eye was on them--and became
Wild as the ternpest! Peril could not tame
Nay, stirr'd their brutal hearts to more excess;
Round the deserted banquet-board they press,
Like men transform'd to fiends, with oath and yell!
And many deem'd the sea less terrible
Than maniacs fiercely ripe for all, or aught,
That ever flash'd upon a desperate thought!

Strange laughter mingled with the shriek and groan
Nor woman shrank, nor woman wept, alone.
Some, as a bolt had smote them, fell; -and some
Stared haggard wild: - dismay had struck them dumb.
There were of firmer nerve, or fiercer cast,
Who scowl'd defiance back upon the blast-
Half scorning in their haughty souls to be
Thus pent and buffeted. And tenderly,

Even then, to manly hearts fair forms were drawn,
Whose virgin eyes had never shed their dawn
Before soft, beautifully shy -to flush

A lover's hope; but as the dove will rush

Into the school-boy's bosom to elude

The swooping goshawk-woman, thus subdued,
Will cling to those she shunn'd in lighter mood-
The soul confess emotions but conceal'd-
Pure, glowing, deep, though lingeringly reveal'd;
That true chameleon which imbibes the tone
Of every passing hue she pauses on!

O, 't is the cheek that's false -so subtly taught,
It takes not of its colour from the thought;
But like volcanic mountains veil'd in snow,
Hides the heart's lava, while it works below!

And there were two who loved, but never told
Their love to one another: years had roll'd
Since Passion touch'd them with his purple wing,
Though still their youth was in its blossoming.

Lofty of soul, as riches were denied,
He deem'd it mean to woo a wealthy bride;
And (for her tears were secret) coldly she
Wreath'd her pale brow in maiden dignity;
Yet each had caught the other's eye reposing,
And, far as looks disclose, the truth disclosing;

But when they met, pride check'd the soul's warm sigh,
And froze the melting spirit of the eye-

A pride in vulgar hearts that never shone.
And thus they loved, and silently loved on;
But this was not a moment when the head
Could trifle with the heart! The cloud that spread
Its chilling veil between them, now had past-
Too long awaking- but they woke at last!
He rush'd where clung the fainting fair one-
To sooth with hopes he felt not, cherish'd not;
And while in passionate support he press'd,
She raised her eyes- then swiftly on his breast
Hid her blanch'd cheek- as if resign'd to share
The worst with him; nay, die contented there!
That silent act was fondly eloquent ;

sought

And to the youth's deep soul, like lightning, sent
A gleam of rapture -- exquisite yet brief,
As his (poor wretch) that in the grave of grief
Feels Fortune's sun burst on him, and looks up
With hope to heaven- forgetful of the cup,
The deadly cup, his shivering hand yet strain'd-
A hot heart-pang reminds him it is drain'd!
Away with words! for when had true love ever
A happy star to bless it? -- Never, never!
And oh, the brightest after-smile of Fate
Is but a sad reprieve, which comes

The riot shout peal'd on;

too late!

- but deep distress

Had sunk all else in utter hopelessness!

One mark'd the strife of frenzy and despair-

The most concern'd, and yet the calmest there;

In bitterness of soul beheld his crew

He should have known them, and he thought he knew:
The blood-hound on the leash may fawn, obey-

He'll tear thee, shouldst thou cross him at his prey!
One only trust survives, a doubtful one--

But oh, how cherish'd, every other gone!

"While hold our cables, fear not" -- As he spoke
A sea burst o'er them, and their cables broke!
Then, like a lion bounding from the toil,
The ship shot through the billow's black recoil;
Urged by the howling blast-all guidance gone-
They shuddering felt her reeling, rushing on --
Nor dared to question where; nor dared to cast
One asking look-for that might be their last!

What frowns so steep in front -a cliff? a rock?
The groaning vessel staggers in the shock!
The last shriek rings.

Hark! whence that voice they hear Loud o'er the rushing waters - loud and near?