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IN thought, I saw the palace domes of Tyre;
Forth from all lands all nations to her went,
I saw, with gilded prow and silken sail,
Oh gallant ships! 'gainst you what might prevail? She stood upon her rock, and in her pride Of strength and beauty, waste and woe defied.
I look'd again-I saw a lonely shore,
A rock amid the waters, and a waste
Of trackless sand:-I heard the bleak sea's roar, And winds that rose and fell with gusty haste. There was one scath'd tree, by storm defac'd, Round which the sea-birds wheel'd with scream
Ere long came on a traveller, slowly pac'd; Now east, than west, he turn'd with curious eye, Like one perplex'd with an uncertainty.
Awhile he look'd upon the sea, and then Upon a book, as if it might supply
The things he lack'd:-he read, and gaz'd again; Yet, as if unbelief so on him wrought,
He might not deem this shore the shore he sought.
Again I saw him come :
-'twas eventide ;
The sun shone on the rock; amid the sea The winds were hush'd; the quiet billows sigh'd With a low swell;-the birds wing'd silently Their evening flight around the scathed tree: The fisher safely put into the bay,
And push'd his boat ashore ;—then gather'd he His nets, and hasting up the rocky way,
Spread them to catch the sun's warm evening ray,
Ruin and silence in his courts are met,
And on her city-rock the fisher spreads his net!"
THE GLOW WORM.
If on some balmy breathing night of spring
Or from the heath-flower beats the sparkling dew,
He sees before his inexperienc'd eyes,
The brilliant Glow-worm like a meteor shine On the turf bank: amaz'd and pleas'd he cries, "Star of the dewy grass, I make thee mine!" Then, ere he sleeps, collects the moisten'd flower, And bids soft leaves his glitt'ring prize unfold, And dreams that fairy lamps illume his bower; Yet with the morning shudders to behold
His lucid treasure rayless as the dust:
So turn the world's bright joys to cold and blank disgust.
Mrs. C. Smith.
ON PLANTING A TULIP ROOT.
HERE lies a bulb, the child of earth,
'Tis said, that microscopic power
Too exquisite to meet the eye.
This vernal suns and rains will swell,
Not one of Flora's brilliant race
A form more perfect can display; Art could not feign more simple grace, Nor nature take a hue away.
Yet rich as morn of many a hue,
When flushing clouds through darkness strike,
The tulip's petals shine in dew,
All beautiful, but none alike.
Kings on their bridal might unrobe,
And queens their sceptre, crown, and globe;
Here could I stand and moralize:
THE TRAVELLER AT THE SOURCE OF
In sunset's light, o'er Afric thrown,
The cradle of that mighty birth,
So long a hidden thing to earth!
He heard its life's first murmuring sound,
A music sought, but never found,
By kings and warriors gone:
The rapture of a conqueror's mood
There stillness lay, with eve's last smile-
Night came with stars :-across his soul
Breath'd from the thought, so swift to fall
No more than this! What seem'd it now
They call'd him back to many a glade,
Where brightly through the beechen shade
They call'd him, with their sounding waves,
But darkly mingling with the thought
Rose up a fearful vision, fraught
The Arab's lance, the desert's gloom,
Where was the glow of power and pride?
His alter'd heart within him died
He wept!-the stars of Afric's heaven
E'en on that spot where fate had given
-Oh, happiness! how far we flee
Thine own sweet paths in search of thee!