[FROM MR. WILSON'S ISLE OF PALMS.]
ND well, glad Vessel! mayst thou stem
A The tide with lofty breast,
And lift thy queen-like diadem
O'er these thy realms of rest:
For a thousand beings, now far away,
Behold thee in their sleep,
And hush their beating hearts to pray
That a calm may clothe the deep.
When dimly descending behind the sea
From the mountain Isle of Liberty,
Oh! many a sigh pursued thy vanish'd sail;
And oft an eager crowd will stand
With straining gaze on the Indian strand,
Thy wonted gleam to bail.
For thou art laden with Beauty and Youth,
With Honour bold, and spotless Truth,
With fathers, who have left in a home of rest
Their infants smiling at the breast,
With children, who have bade their parents farewell,
Or who go to the land where their parents dwell.
God sp ed thy course, thou gleam of delight!
From rock and tempest clear;
Till signal gun from friendly height
Proclaim, with thundering cheer,
To joyful groups on the harbour bright,
That the good ship HOPE is near!
Is no one on the silent deck
Save the helmsman who sings for a breeze,
And the sailors who pace their midnight watch,
Still as the slumbering seas?
Yes! side by side, and hand in hand,
Close to the prow two figures stand,
Their shadows never stir,
And fondly at the Moon doth rest
Upon the Ocean's gentle breast,
So fond they look on her.
They gaze and gaze till the beauteous orb
Seems made for them alone :
They feel as if their home were Heaven,
And the earth a dream that hath flown.
Softly they lean on each other's breast,
In holy bliss reposing,
Like two fair clouds to the vernal air
In folds of beauty closing.
The tear down their glad faces rolls,
And a silent prayer is in their souls,
While the voice of awaken'd memory,
Like a low and plaintive melody,
Sings in their hearts,-a mystice voice,
That bids them tremble and rejoice.
And Faith, who oft had lost her power
In the darkness of the midnight hour
When the planets had roll'd afar,
Now stirs in their soul with a joyful strife,
Embued with a genial spirit of life
By the Moon and the Morning-Star.
A lovelier vision in the moonlight stands,
Than Bard e'er woo'd in fairy lands,
Or Faith with tranced eye adored,
Floating around our dying Lord,
Her silent face is saintly-pale,
And sadness shades it like a veil :
A consecrated nun she seems,
Whose waking thoughts are deep as dreams,
And in her hush'd and dim abode
For ever dwell upon her God,
Though the still fount of tears and sighs
And human sensibilities!
Well may the Moon delight to shed
Her softest radiance round that head,
And mellow the cool ocean-air
That lifts by fits her sable hair.
These mild and melancholy eyes
Are dear unto the starry skies,
As the dim effusion of their rays
Blends with the glimmering light that plays
O'er the blue heavens, and snowy clouds,
The cloud-like sails, and radiant shrouds.
Fair creature! Thou dost seem to be
Some wandering spirit of the sea,
That dearly loves the gleam of sails,
And o'er them breathes propitious gales.
Hither thou comest, for one wild hour,
With him thy sinless paramour,
To gaze, while the wearied sailors sleep,
On this beautiful phantom of the deep,
That seem'd to rise with the rising Moon.
-But the Queen of Night will be sinking soon,
Then will you, like two breaking waves,
Sink softly to your coral caves,
Or, noiseless as the falling dew,
Melt into Heaven's delicious blue.
Nay! wrong her not, that Virgin bright!
Her face is bathed in lovelier light
Than ever flow'd from eyes
Of Ocean Nymph, or Sylph of Air!
The tearful gleam, that trembles there,
From human dreams must rise.
Let the Mermaid rest in her sparry cell,
Her sea-green ringlets braiding!
The Sylph in viewless ether dwell,
In clouds her beauty shading!
My soul devotes her music wild
To one who is an earthly child,
But who, wandering through the midnight hour,
Far from the shade of earthly bower,
Bestows a tenderer loveliness,
A deeper, holier quietness,
On the moonlight Heaven, and Ocean hoar,
So quiet and so fair before.
Yet why does a helpless maiden roam,
Mid stranger souls, and far from home,
Across the faithless deep?
Oh! fitter far that her gentle mind
In some sweet inland vale should find
An undisturbed sleep!
So was it once. Her childish years
Like clouds pass'd o'er her head,
When life is all one rosy smile, or tears
Of natural grief, forgotten soon as shed.
O'er her own mountains, like a bird
Glad wandering from its nest,
When the glossy hues of the sunny spring
Are dancing on its breast,
With a winged glide this maiden would rove,
An innocent phantom of beauty and love.
Far from the haunts of men she grew
By the side of a lonesome tower,
Like some solitary mountain-flower,
Whose veil of wiry dew
Is only touch'd by the gales that breathe
O'er the blossoms of the fragrant heath,
And in its silence melts away
With those sweet things too pure for earthly day,
Blest was the lore that Nature taught
The infant's happy mind,
Even when each light and happy thought
Pass'd onwards like the wind,
Nor longer seem'd to linger there
Than the whispering sound in her raven-hair.
Well was she known to each mountain-stream,
As its own voice, or the fond moon-beam
That oer its music play'd:
The loneliest caves her footsteps heard,
In lake and tarn oft nightly stirr'd
The Maiden's ghost-like shade.
But she hath bidden a last farewell
To lake and mountain, stream and del!,
And fresh have blown the gales
For many a mournful night and day,
Wafting the tall Ship far away
From her dear native Wales.
And must these eyes,—so soft and mild,
As angel's bright, as fairy's wild,
Swimming in lustrous dew,
Now sparkling lively, gay, and glad,
And now their spirit melting sad
In smiles of gentlest blue,-
Oh! must these eyes be steep'd in tears,
Bedimm'd with dreams of future years,
Of what may yet betide
An Orphan-Maid!-for in the night
She oft hath started with affright,
To find herself a bride;
A bride oppress'd with fear and shame,
And bearing not Fitz-Owen's name.
This fearful dream oft haunts her bed,
For she hath heard of maidens sold,
In the innocence of thoughtless youth,
To Guilt and Age for gold;
Of English maids who pined away
Beyond the Eastern Main,
Who smiled, when first they trod that shore,
But never smiled again.
In dreams is she the wretched Maid,
An Orphan,---helpless,---sold,-- betray'd,--
And, when the dream hath fled,
In waking thought she still retains.
The memory of these wildering pains,
In strange mysterious dread.
Yet oft will happier dreams arise
Before her charmed view,
And the powerful beauty of the skies
Makes her believe them true.
For who, when nought is heard around,
But the great Ocean's solemn sound,
Feels not as if the Eternal God
Were speaking in that dread abode ?
An answering voice seems kindly given.
From the multitude of stars in Heaven:
And oft a smile of moonlight fair,
To perfect peace hath changed despair.
Low as we are, we blend our fate
With things so beautifully great,
And though opprest with heaviest grief,
From Nature's bliss we draw relief,
Assured that God's most gracious eye
Beholds us in our misery,
And sends mild sound and lovely sight,
To change that misery to delight.-
Such is thy faith, O sainted Maid!
Pensive and pale, but not afraid
Of Ocean or of Sky,
Though thou ne'er mayst see the land again,
And though awful be the lonely Main,
No fears hast thou to die.
Whate'er betide of weal or wo,
When the waves are asleep, or the tempests blow,
Thou wilt bear with calm devotion;
For duly every night and morn,
Sweeter than Mermaids strains are borne
Thy hymns along the Ocean.
And who is He, that fondly presses
Close to his heart the silken tresses
That hide her soften'd eyes,
Whose heart her heaving bosom meets,
And through the midnight silence beats
To feel her rising sighs?
Worthy the Youth, I ween, to rest
On the fair swellings of her breast,
Worthy to hush her inmost fears,
And kiss away her struggling tears:
For never grovelling spirit stole
A woman's unpolluted soul !
To her the vestal fire is given;
And only fire drawn pure from Heaven
Can on Love's holy shrine descend,
And there in clouds of fragrance blend.
Well do I know that stately Youth!
The broad day-light of cloudless truth
Like a sun-beam bathes his face;
Though silent, still a gracious smile,
That rests upon his eyes the while,
Bestows a speaking grace.
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