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When the fresh breeze is fair as breeze may be,
The white sail set, the gallant frigate tight;
Masts, spires, and strand retiring to the right,
The glorious main expanding o'er the bow,
The convoy spread like wild swans in their flight,
The dullest sailer wearing bravely now,
So gaily curl the waves before each dashing prow.

And oh, the little warlike world within!
The well reev'd guns, the netted canopy,
The hoarse command, the busy humming din,
When, at a word, the tops are mann'd on high:
Hark to the Boatswain's call, the cheering cry!
While through the seaman's hand the tackle glides;
Or school-boy Midshipman that standing by,
Strains his shrill pipe as good or ill betides,
And well the docile crew that skilful urchin guides.

White is the glassy deck, without a stain,
Where on the watch the staid Lieutenant walks:
Look on that part which sacred doth remain
For the loan chieftain, who majestic stalks,
Silent and fear'd by all—not oft he talks
With aught beneath him, if he would preserve
That strict restraint, which broken, ever balks
Conquest and Fame: but Britons rarely swerve
From Law, however stern, which tends their strength to nerve.

Blow! swiftly blow, thou keel-compelling gale!
Till the broad sun withdraws his lessening ray;
Then must the pennant-bearer slacken sail,
That lagging barks may make their lazy way.
Ah, grievance sore! and listless dull delay,
To waste on sluggish hulks the sweetest breeze,
What leagues are lost before the dawn of day?
Thus loitering pensive on the wi!ling seas,

The flapping sail haul'd down to halt for logs like these!

The moon is up; by Heaven a lovely eve!

Long streams of light o'er dancing waves expand;
Now lads on shore may sigh and maids believe:
Such be our fate when we return to land!

Meantime

Meantime some rude Arion's restless hand
Wakes the brisk harmony that sailors love;
A circle there of merry listeners stand,

Or to some well-known measure featly move,
Thoughtless, as if on shore they still were free to rove.

Through Calpe's straits survey the steepy shore,
Europe and Afric on each other gaze !

Lands of the dark-ey'd Maid and dusky Moor,
Alike beheld beneath pale Hecate's blaze:
How softly on the Spanish shore she plays,
Disclosing rock, and slope, and forest brown,
Distinct though darkening with her waning phase :
But Mauritania's giant shadows frown,

From mountain cliff to coast descending sombre down.

'Tis night, when meditation bids us feel
We once have lov'd, though love is at an end:
The heart, lone mourner of its baffled zeal,
Though friendless now will dream it had a friend.
Who with the weight of years would wish to bend,
When Youth itself survives young Love and Joy?
Alas! when mingling souls forget to blend,
Death hath but little left him to destroy!

Ah! happy years! once more who would not be a boy?

Thus bending o'er the vessel's laving side,

To

gaze

on Dian's wave-reflected sphere;

The soul forgets her schemes of Hope and Pride,
And flies unconscious o'er each backward year:
None are so desolate but something dear,
Dearer than self, possesses or possess'd

A thought, and claims the homage of a tear;
A flashing pang! of which the weary breast
Would still, albeit, in vain, the heavy heart divest.

To sit on rocks, to muse o'er flood and fell,
To slowly trace the forest's shady scene,
Where things that own not man's dominion dwell,
And mortal foot hath ne'er, or rarely been;
To climb the trackless mountian all unseen,
With the wild flock that never needs a fold;
Alone o'er steeps and foaming falls to lean;
This is not solitude; 'tis but to hold

Converse with Nature's charms, and see her stores unroll'd.

But midst the crowd, the hum, the shock of men,
To hear, to see, to feel, and to possess,

And

And roam along, the world's tir'd denizen,

With none who bless us, none whom we can bless;
Minions of splendor shrinking from distress!
None that, with kindred consciousness endued,
If we were not, would seem to smile the less
Of all that flatter'd, followed, sought, and sued:
This is to be alone; this, this is solitude!

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One last long sigh to love and thee,
Then back to busy life again.
It suits me well to mingle now

With things that never pleas'd before:
Though ev'ry joy is fed below,

What future grief can touch me more?

Then bring me wine, the banquet bring:
Man was not form'd to live alone:
I'll be that light unmeaning thing
That smiles with all, and weeps with none.
It was not thus in days more dear,
It never would have been, but thou
Hast fled, and left me lonely here:
Thou'rt nothing, all are nothing now.

In vain my lyre would lightly breathe!

The smile that sorrow fain would wear
But mocks the woe that lurks beneath,
Like roses o'er a sepulchre.

Though gay companions o'er the bowl
Dispel awhile the sense of ill;
Though pleasure fires the madd'ning soul;
The heart-the heart is lonely still!

On many a lone and lovely night
It sooth'd to gaze upon the sky;
For then I deem'd the heav'nly light
Shone sweetly on thy petsive eye:
And oft I thought at Cynthia's noon,
When sailing o'er the Egean wave,
"Now Thyrza gazes on that moon-"

Alas, it gleam'd upon her grave.

When

When stretch'd on fever's sleepless bed,
And sickness shrunk my throbbing veins,
"'Tis comfort still," I faintly said,

"That Thyrza cannot know my pains:"
Like freedom to the time-worn slave,
A boon 'tis idle then to give;
Relenting nature vainly gave

My life, when Thyrza ceas'd to live!

My Thyrza's pledge in better days,
When love and life alike were new!
How different now thou meet'st my gaze!
How ting'd by time with sorrows hue!
The heart that gave itself with thee
Is silent-ah, were mine as still!
Though cold as e'en the dead can be,
It feels, it sickens with the chill.

Thou bitter pledge! thou mournful token!
Though painful, welcome to my breast!
Still, still, preserve that love unbroken,
Or break the heart to which thou'rt prest!
Time teinpers love, but not removes,
More hallow'd when its hope is fled :
Oh! what are thousand living loves
To that which cannot quit the dead?

THE PATRON.

From CRABBE'S TALES.

A BOROUGH-BAILIFF, who to law was train'd,
A wife and sons in decent state maintain'd;
He had his way in life's rough ocean steer'd,
And many a rock and coast of danger clear'd;
He saw where others fail'd, and care had he,
Others in him should not such failings see!
His sons in various busy states were plac'd,
And all began the sweets of gain to taste;
Save John, the younger; who, of sprightly parts,
Felt not a love for money-making arts:
In childhood feeble, he, for country air,

Had long resided with a rustic pair;

All round whose room were doleful ballads, songs,

Of lovers' sufferings and of ladies' wrongs;

Of peevish ghosts who came at dark midnight,
For breach of promise, guilty men to fright:

Love, marriage, murder, were the themes, with these,
All that on idle, ardent spirits seize;

Robbers

dom more than two in a house; for the servants, generally, sleep, upon mats, or dried hides laid on the floor.. The furniture consists of one or two chairs, a few stools and benches, one table, or perhaps two, a few coffee-cups and a coffee-pot of silver; a silver drinking cup, and, in some instances, a. silver wash-hand bason, which, when strangers are present,is handed round with great ostentation, and forms a striking contrast to the rest of the utensils, nos 8 a The general diet of the family consists of the same articles which have already been particularized in treating of St. Paul's. The only beverage is water; and nothing can be more frugal than the whole economy of the table. So intent is the owner in employing his slaves solely in employments, directly lucrative, that the garden, on which almost the entire subsistence of the family depends, is kept in the most miserable dis order.

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In the article of dress, they do not appear more extravagant than in that of food. The children are generally naked; the youths go without shoes, in an old jacket, and cotton trowsers; the men in an old capote or mantle wrapped around them, and wooden clogs, except when they go from home; and, on those occasions, they ap pear in all their splendor, forming as great a contrast to their domes tic attire, as the gaudy butterfly does to the chrysalis from which it springs. :*

molt might be expected, that how ever penuriously the general concerns of the family were conducted, at least some degree of attention and expense would be bestowed

on the dress of the females; for the test of civilization among all nations is the regard paid to the fair sex, on whom the happiness of domestic life depends. Yet the general poverty and meanness of their attire is such, that they reluctantly appear before any one, except the individuals of their own family.

In short, in all those departments of domestic economy, which to the middle classes of other civilized nations are objects of expense, the Brazilians exercise the most rigid parsimony. At first, I was inclined to attribute this dis position to the love of money, which prompted them to avoid all extravagance; but, on closer observa, tion, I was surprised to find that it originated in necessity. They generally run in debt for the few articles they have to purchase, and sometimes find it difficult to maintain their negroes. If they purchase a mule, it is at one or two years' credit, and, of course, at double its ordinary price.

In such a family as that above described, the sons, as might be expected, are brought up in idleness; they are merely taught to read and write; rarely do they ate tend to the mining department; they learn no trade, nor are they instructed in any useful employment; for a miner, perhaps an ensign or a lieutenant of militia, would think it a disgrace to put his son apprentice to a mechanic. suppose the father of this family to die when the sons have just attained the age of puberty. They are now for the first time obliged to think of providing for themselves. Educated in poverty and pride, they have learned to think all occupations

servile,

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