Is always pure, e'en while it errs;
As sunshine, broken in the rill,
Though turn'd astray, is sunshine still!

So wholly had her mind forgot

All thoughts but one, she heeded not
The rising storm-the wave that cast
A moment's midnight, as it pass'd-
Nor heard the frequent shout, the tread
Of gathering tumult o'er her head—
Clash'd swords, and tongues that seem'd to vie
With the rude riot of the sky.-

But, hark!—that war-whoop on the deck—
That crash, as if each engine there,
Masts, sails, and all, were gone to wreck,
Mid yells and stampings of despair!
Merciful Heaven! what can it be?
'Tis not the storm, though fearfully
The ship has shudder'd as she rode
O'er mountain-waves-"Forgive me, God!
"Forgive me "-shrieked the maid, and knelt,
Trembling all over-for she felt

As if her judgment-hour was near

While crouching round, half dead with fear, Her handmaids clung, nor breath'd, nor stirr'd

When, hark!—a second crash—a third

And now, as if a bolt of thunder

Had riv'n the labouring planks asunder,

The deck falls in-what horrors then!

Blood, waves, and tackle, swords and men
Come mix'd together through the chasm,—
Some wretches in their dying spasm

Whose was the hand that turn'd away
The perils of the' infuriate fray,

And snatch'd her breathless from beneath

This wilderment of wreck and death?

She knew not-for a faintness came
Chill o'er her, and her sinking frame
Amid the ruins of that hour

Lay, like a pale and scorched flower,
Beneath the red volcano's shower.

But, oh the sights and sounds of dread.
That shock'd her ere her senses fled !
The yawning deck-the crowd that strove
Upon the tottering planks above-
The sail, whose fragments, shivering o'er
The strugglers' heads all dash'd with gore,
Flutter'd like bloody flags-the clash
Of sabres, and the lightning's flash
Upon their blades, high toss'd about
Like meteor brands 276. -as if throughout
The elements one fury ran,

One general rage, that left a doubt

Which was the fiercer, Heaven or Man!

Once too-but no-it could not be

'Twas fancy all-yet once she thought

While yet her fading eyes could see,
High on the ruin'd deck she caught
A glimpse of that unearthly form,

That glory of her soul,-e'en then,
Amid the whirl of wreck and storm,

Shining above his fellow-men,

As, on some black and troublous night,
The Star of EGYPT, 277 whose proud light
Never hath beam'd on those who rest

In the White Islands of the West,278

Burns through the storm with looks of flame

That put Heaven's cloudier eyes to shame. But no 'twas but the minute's dream—

A fantasy and ere the scream

Had half-way pass'd her pallid lips,
A death-like swoon, a chill eclipse
Of soul and sense its darkness spread
Around her, and she sunk, as dead.

How calm, how beautiful comes on
The stilly hour, when storms are gone;
When warring winds have died away,
And clouds, beneath the glancing ray,
Melt off, and leave the land and sea
Sleeping in bright tranquillity,—
Fresh as if Day again were born,
Again upon the lap of Morn!-
When the light blossoms, rudely torn
And scatter'd at the whirlwind's will,
Hang floating in the pure air still,
Filling it all with precious balm,
In gratitude for this sweet calm ;-
And every drop the thunder-showers
Have left upon the grass and flowers
Sparkles, as 'twere that lightning-gem 279
Whose liquid flame is born of them!
When, 'stead of one unchanging breeze,
There blow a thousand gentle airs,
And each a different perfume bears,-
As if the loveliest plants and trees

Had vassal breezes of their own

To watch and wait on them alone,

And waft no other breath than theirs :

When the blue waters rise and fall,
In sleepy sunshine mantling all;
And e'en that swell the tempest leaves
Is like the full and silent heaves
Of lovers' hearts, when newly blest,
Too newly to be quite at rest.

Such was the golden hour that broke
Upon the world, when HINDA woke
From her long trance, and heard around
No motion but the water's sound
Rippling against the vessel's side,
As slow it mounted o'er the tide.-
But where is she?-her eyes are dark,
Are wilder'd still-is this the bark,
The same, that from HARMOZIA's bay
Bore her at morn-whose bloody way
The sea-dog track'd ?—no-strange and new
Is all that meets her wondering view.
Upon a galliot's deck she lies,

Beneath no rich pavilion's shade,-
No plumes to fan her sleeping eyes,
Nor jasmine on her pillow laid.
But the rude litter, roughly spread
With war-cloaks, is her homely bed,
And shawl and sash, on javelins hung,
For awning o'er her head are flung,
Shuddering she look'd around-there lay
A group of warriors in the sun,
Resting their limbs, as for that day

Their ministry of death were done.

Some gazing on the drowsy sea,