I hear, from clouds of fluid gold, Their silken sails on ocean's breast. From moonlight decks the golden string I steal the soft voice of the gale, That pensive Beauty weeps to hear; While the foldings of her snowy veil Are moisten'd with a falling tear. She lifts Devotion's beaming eye, When the day-star rushes from on high, My wild harp charms the list'ning night From golden sands I love to view The cold moon of the northern pole, When round her throne of cloudless blue The circling waves of ether roll. She wanders through the length'ning night, And glitters on my crystal dome, Whose pearly towers in fluid light They shiver as the tempests rave Ah! when the frozen canvass gleams When the rocking keels the waters brave, And the snow-cloud's changing meteors burn, I weep to think, that from the wave The fated barks shall ne'er return. When the cry of death is on the deep, The luckless wand'rers of the main. When their life-blood o'er the ocean swims, I hide the victims' stiffen'd limbs In the darkness of the oozy wave. I bear to my unfathom'd cell The waving sea-flowers' deathless bloom, Round many a proud unshaken height, I revel in the beamy light That sports in boundless liberty. E While from my streaming locks I fling In the summer of Atlantic seas. They spread their robes of silv'ry hue THE DYING SOLDIER. ANONYMOUS. The following Verses were written on an incident which happened during the last campaign in Egypt. THE tumult of battle had ceas'd-high in air When a veteran was seen, by the light of his lamp, Though dauntless in war, at a story of woe Alike proud to conquer, or spare a brave foe, As he counted the slain, "Oh, Conquest!" he cried, "Thou art glorious indeed, but how dearly thou'rt won!" "Too dearly, alas!" a voice faintly replied― It thrill'd through his heart!-'twas the voice of his Son! He listen'd aghast !—all was silent again; He search'd by the beams which his lamp feebly shed, And found his brave Son, amid hundreds of slain, The corse of a comrade supporting his head! "My Henry!" the sorrowful parent exclaim'd, "Has fate rudely wither'd thy laurels so soon?" The youth op'd his eyes, as he heard himself nam'd, And awoke for a while, from his death-boding swoon. He gaz'd on his Father, who knelt by his side, And seizing his hand, press'd it close to his heart; "Thank Heav'n, thou art here, my dear Father!" he cried; "For soon! ah, too soon we for ever must part! "Though death early calls me from all that I love! From glory, from thee, yet perhaps 'twill be giv'n To meet thee again in yon regions above!" His eyes beam'd with hope, as he fix'd them on heav'n. "Then let not thy bosom with vain sorrow swell; ON PARTING. LORD BYRON. THE kiss, dear maid! thy lip has left, Thy parting glance, which fondly beams, I ask no pledge to make me blest Nor need I write-to tell the tale By day or night, in weal or woe, |