THE BECHUANA BOY.
I rescued it, though wounded sore,
All dabbled with its mother's gore,
And nursed it in a cavern wild
Until it loved me like a child.
"Gently I nursed it; for I thought
(Its hapless fate so like to mine)
By good Utika it was brought,
To bid me not repine-
Since in this world of wrong and ill
One creature lived to love me still,
Although its dark and dazzling eye
Beamed not with human sympathy.
"Thus lived I, a lone orphan lad,
My task the proud boor's flocks to tend;
And this pet fawn was all I had
To love, or call my friend;
When, suddenly, with haughty look
And taunting words, that tyrant took
My playmate for his pampered boy,
Who envied me my only joy.
"High swelled my heart!-But when the star
Of midnight gleamed, I softly led
My bounding favourite forth, and far
And there, from human kind exiled,
Four moons on roots and berries wild
I've fared-and braved the beasts of prey
To 'scape from spoilers worse than they.
"But yester morn a Bushman brought
The tidings that thy tents were here,
And now rejoicingly I've sought
Thy presence, void of fear;
Because they say, O English chief,
Thou scornest not the captive's grief:
Then let me serve thee as thine own,
For I am in the world alone!"
Such was Marossi's touching tale.
Our breasts they were not made of stone-
His words, his winning looks prevail-
We took him for "our own:"
And one, with woman's gentle heart,
Unlocked the fountains of his heart,
And love gushed forth, till he became
Her CHILD-in every thing but name.
Ir was a lonely hamlet, where the trees
Waved, in green beauty, o'er the whitewashed cot; Deepening the shade, as the light summer breeze Clustered the boughs, so beams of sun came not; Beneath, smiled cottage flowers-'midst all a brook Ran hurrying off to a sequestered nook ;
Then bursting forth beside a rose-wreathed grot,
Mirrored its beauties-for to it were given,
To mix the flowers of earth, and clouds of heaven.
All seemed enchantment in the flowery dell,
Yet all was solemn silence-no glad thrill
Of children's voices, breathing forth the spell
Of hope and early life-all, all was still;-
And yet, 'twas summer's bright unclouded noon,
When May's pale flowers gave place to those of June;"
'Midst which the roving bee ranged forth at will;
At intervals was heard the cuckoo's tone,
By mimic schoolboy gaily made his own. *
Lo! on the ear pealed forth another sound,
And slow, and time-paced, came the funeral tread, And one, the bier with fresh-blown roses crowned, As though pale silk waved o'er the youthful dead; Yet ill did the dark pall accord with flowers, And the bright sun of June's unclouded hours: Whilst heavy sighs proclaimed all joy was fled From him, the childless father, who gazed on Scenes, which brought memories of the loved, and gone.
There the green oak in civil triumph bore
The torn remains of the once favourite kite; And the rose-tree displayed a beauteous store
Of rosy flowers, which, budding, joyed the sight; And sideways spread a mound of unmown grass, O'er which such bounding feet were used to pass; All these seemed shrouded in eternal night, Since, from their view, the father could but borrow Thoughts of past joy, to deepen present sorrow.
The bell ceased tolling-and the solemn tread
Of slow receding footsteps died away,
Till all was gloom,-for, thinking on the dead,
The village children had forgot their play;
They missed their loved companion-he who'd chase
Their fleetest footsteps oft, and win the race;
Sadness and silence marked the weary day;
E'en mothers fearfully looked on the bloom
Of their loved boys-and thought upon the tomb.
THE TOMB OF ROMEO AND JULIET.
Ay, moralize on Love, and deem
Its life but as an April gleam,
A thing of sunshine and of showers,
Of dying leaves and falling flowers.
Who would not bear the darkest sphere
That such a rainbow comes to cheer?
Ay, turn and wail above the tomb,
Where sleep the wreck of youth and bloom;
And deem it quite enough to say,-
Thus beauty, and thus Love decay.
But must I look upon this spot
With feelings thy cold heart has not;
Those gentle thoughts that consecrate,
Even while they weep, the Lover's fate?
I thought upon the star-lit hour,
When leant the maid 'mid leaf and flower,
And blushed and smiled the tale to hear,
Poured from her dark-eyed cavalier;
And yet, I too must moralize,
Albeit with gentler sympathies,
Of all my own fond heart can tell
Of love's despair, and love's farewell,—
Its many miseries;-its tears,
Like lava, not like dew;-its fears,
That make hope painful; then its trust,
So often trampled in the dust ;-
Neglected, blighted, and betrayed,
A sorrow and a mockery made!
Then change and adverse fortune, all
That binds and keeps sweet Love in thrall.
Oh, surely, surely, it were best
To be just for one moment blessed;
Just gaze upon one worshiped eye,
Just know yourself beloved, and die!
FOR THE PRINCESS CHARLOTTE OF WALES.
BY ROBERT SOUTHEY, ESQ., P. L.
In its summer pride arrayed,
Low our Tree of Hope is laid!
Low it lies:-in evil hour,
Visiting the bridal bower,
Death hath levelled root and flower.
Windsor, in thy sacred shade,
(This the end of pomp and power!)
Have the rites of death been paid:
Windsor, in thy sacred shade
Is the Flower of Brunswick laid!
Ye whose relics rest around,
Tenants of this funeral ground!
Know ye, Spirits, who is come,
By immitigable doom
Summoned to the untimely tomb?
Late with youth and splendour crowned,
Late in beauty's vernal bloom,
Late with love and joyance blest;
Never more lamented guest
Was in Windsor laid to rest.
Henry, thou of saintly worth,
Thou, to whom thy Windsor gave
Nativity, and name, and grave;
Thou art in this hallowed earth,
Cradled for the immortal birth.
Heavily upon his head
Ancestral crimes were visited.
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