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Rejoicing in her scarce-felt motion

That, by their pious souls alone When the ship flew, or slumbering Ocean Perform'd before his silent throne Detain'd her in his arms.

In innocence and joy, Beneath the sail's expanded shade,

Here, and in realms beyond the grave, They and the thoughtless crew together Unites those whom the cruel wave


Could not for grief destroy?
And sweet their voices rose above the No fears felt they of guilt or sin,


For sure they heard a voice within Nor seem'd it woeful as a strain

That set their hearts at rest; That never was to rise again,

They pass’d the day in peaceful prayer, And chanted o'er the grave.

And when beneath the evening-air,
They sought again their arbour fair,

A smiling angel met them there,
Ne'er seem'd before the Isle so bright; And bade their couch be blest.
And when their hymns were ended,

Nor veil'd the Moon her virgin-light, Oh! ne'er in such intense delight

But, clear and cloudless all the night, Had their rapt souls been blended. Hung o'er the flowers where love and Some natural tears they surely owed

beauty lay; To those who wept for them, and fast they And, loath to leave that holy bower,


With lingering pace obey'd the power
And oft will flow amid their happiest hours; Of bright-returning day. ,
But not less fair the summer-day,
Though glittering through the sunny ray
Are seen descending showers.

And say! what wanteth now the Isle of But how could Sorrow, Grief, or Pain,

Palms, The glory of that morn sustain?

To make it happy as those Isles of rest Alone amid the Wilderness

(When eve the sky becalms More touching seem'd the holiness

Like a subsiding sea) Of that mysterious day of soul-felt rest: That hang resplendent mid the gorgeous They are the first that e'er adored

west, On this wild spot their Heavenly Lord, All brightly imaged, mountain, grove, and Or gentle Jesus bless'd.

tree, O Son of God !-How sweetly came The setting sun's last lingering pageantry! Into their souls that blessed name!

Hath Fancy ever dreamt of Seraph-Powers Even like health’ó hope-reviving breath Walking in beauty through these cloudTo one upon the bed of death.

framed bowers, Our Saviour!-- What angelic grace Light as the mist that wraps their dazzling Stole with dim smiles o'er Mary's face,

feet? While through the solitude profound And hath she ever paused to hear, With love and awe she breathed that holy By moonlight brought unto her ear,


Their hymnings wild and sweet? Yes! He will save! a still small voice Lo! human creatures meet her view To Mary's fervent prayer replied ;

As happy, and as beauteous too, Beneath his tender care rejoice,

As those aerial phantoms!--in their mien, On earth who for his children died. Where'er they move, a graceful calm is seen Her Lover saw that, while she pray'd, All foreign to this utter solitude, Communion with her God was given Yet blended with such wild and fairy glide, Unto her sinless spirit:nought he said ; As erst in Grecian Isle had beautified But gazing on her with a fearful love, The guardian Deities of Grove and Flood. Such as saints feel for sister-souls above, Are these fair creatures earth-born and alive, Her cheek upon his bosom gently laid, And mortal, like the flowers that round And dreamt with her of Heaven.

them smile? Or if into the Ocean sank their Isle

A thousand fathoms deep would they Pure were their souls, as infant's breath,

survive,Who in its cradle guiltless sinks in death. Like sudden rainbows spread their arching No place for human frailty this,

wings, Despondency or fears;

And while, to cheer their airy voyage, sings Too beautiful the wild appears

With joy the charmed sea, the Heavens Almost for human bliss.

give way, Was love like theirs then given in vain? That in the spirits, wbo had sojourn'd loog And must they, trembling, shrink from pure On earth, might glide, then re-assume their delight?

sway, Or shall that God, who on the main And from the gratulating throng Hath bound them with a billowy chain, of kindred spirits drink the inexpressire Approve the holy rite,


Oh! fairer now these blessed Lovers seem, Their pastimes these, and labours too, Gliding like spirits through o'er-arching From day to day unwearied they renew,


In garments floating with a woodland-grace: Their beauty, mellowing in the chequerid Oh! lovelier far than fabled sprites, light,

They glide along through new delights, Than, years ago, on that resplendent night, Like Health and Beauty vying in the race. When yielded up to an unearthly dream, Yet hours of soberer bliss they know, In their sweet ship they sail'd upon the seas. Their spirits in more solemn flow Ay! years ago!-for in this temperate clime, At day-fall oft will run Fleet, passing fleet, thenoiseless plumes of time When from his throne, with kingly motion, Float through the fragrance of the sunny air; Into the loving arms of Ocean One little month seems scarcely gone, Descends the setting Sun. Since in a vessel of their own

Oh! beauteous are thy rocky vales,
At eve they landed there.

Land of my birth, forsaken Wales !
Their bower is now a stately bower, Towering from continent or sea,
For, on its roof, the loftiest flower

Where is the Mountain like to thee?-
To bloom so lowly grieves,

The eagle's darling, and the tempest's And up like an ambitious thing

That feareth nought behold it spring Thou! on whose ever-varying side
Till it meet the high Palm-leaves!

The shadows and the sun-beams glide
The porch is opening seen no more, In still or stormy weather,
But folded up with blossoms hoar,

Oh Snowdon! may I breathe thy name? And leaves green as the sea,

And thine too, of gigantic frame,
And, when the wind hath found them out, Cader-Idris ? 'neath the solar flame,
The merry waves that dancing rout Oh! proud ye stand together!
May not surpass in glee.

And thou, sweet Lake ! - but from its wave About their home so little art,

She turn'd her inward eye, They seem to live in Nature's heart, For near these banks, within her grave, Asylvan court to hold

Her Mother sure must lie : In a palace framed of lustre green, Weak were her limbs, long, long ago, More rare than to the bright Flower-Queen And grief, ere this, hath laid them low. Was ever built of old.

Yet soon Fitz-Owen's eye and voice
Where are they in the hours of day? From these sad dreams recall
- The birds are happy on the spray, His weeping wife; and deeply chear'd
The dolphins on the deep,

She soon forgets them all.
Whether they wanton full of life,

Or, haply, through delighted tears, Or, wearied with their playful strife, Her mother's smiling shade appears, Amid the sunshine sleep.

And, her most duteous child caressing, And are these things by Nature blest Bestows on her a parent's blessing, In sport, in labour, and in rest,

And tells that o'er these holy groves And yet the Sovereigns of the Isle opprest Oft hangs the parent whom she loves. With languor or with pain?

How beauteous both in hours like these! No! with light glide, and cheerful song, Prest in each other's arms, or on their knees, Through flowers and fruit they dance along, They think of things for which no words And still fresh joys, uncallid for, throng

are found; Through their romantic reign.

They need not speak : their looks express
The wild-deer bounds along the rock, More life-pervading tenderness
But let him not yon hunter mock,

Than music's sweetest sound.
Though strong, and fierce, and fleet; He thinks upon the dove-like rest
For he will trace his mountain-path, That broods within her pious breast;
Or else his antlers' threatening wrath The holy calm, the hush divine,
In some dark winding meet.

Where pensive, night-like glories shine; Vaunt not, gay bird! thy gorg us plume Even as the mighty Ocean deep,

on yon leafy tree it bloom Yet clear and waveless as the sleep Like a flower both rich and fair :

Of some lone heaven-reflecting lake, Vain thy fond song and scarlet glow, When evening-airs its gleam forsake. To save from his unerring bow;

She thinks upon his love for her, The arrow finds thee there.

His wild, empassion's character, Dark are the caverns of the wave,

To whom a look, a kiss, a smile, Yet those, that sport there, cannot save, Rewards for danger and for toil! Though hidden from the day,

His power of spirit unsubdued, With silvery sides bedropt with gold, His fearlessness,-bis fortitude, Struggling they on the beach are rolld The radiance of his gifted soul, O'er shells as bright as they.

Where never mists or darkness roll:


A poet's soul that flows for ever,

For lo! a sight, which it is heaven to sce, Right onwards like a noble river,

Down yonder hill comes glancing beauRefulgent still, or by its native woods

teously, Shaded, and rolling on through sunless And with a silver-voice most wildly sweet,

Flings herself, laughing, down before her

parents' feet. In love and mercy, sure on him had God The sacred power that stirs the soul Are they in truth her parents ?—Was her bestow'd;

birth Nor fell his hymns on Mary's ear in vain; Not drawn from heavenly sire, and from With brightening smiles the Vision hung

the breast O’er the rapt poet while he sung,

Of some fair spirit, whore sinless nature More beauteous from the strain.

glow'd The songs he pour'd were sad and wild, With purest flames, enamour'd of a God, And while they would have sooth'd a child, And gave this child to light in realms of Who soon bestows his tears,

rest; A deeper pathos in them lay

Then sent her to adorn these island-bowers, Than would have moved a hermit gray, To sport and play with the delighted hours, Bow'd down with holy years.

Till call'd again to dwell among the blest? One song he had about a Ship

Sweet are such fancies:—but that kindling That perish'd on the Main,

smile So woeful, that his Mary pray'd,

Dissolves them all!--Her native isle At one most touching pause he made. This sure must be: If she in Heaven were To cease the hearse-like strain :

born, And yet, in spite of all her pain,

What breath'd into her face Implored him, soon as he obey'd,

That winning human grace, To sing it once again.

Now dim, now dazzling like the break of With faltering voice then would he sing

morn? Of many a well-known far-off thing, For, like the timid light of infant-day, Towers, castles, lakes, and rills;

That oft, when dawning, seems to die away, Their names he gave not-could not give- The gleam of rapture from her visage flies, But happy ye, he thought, who live Then fades, as if afraid, into her tender eyes. Among the Cambrian hills.

Open thy lips, thou blessed thing, again! Then of their own sweet Isle of Palms, And let thy parents live upon the sound; Full many a lovely lay

No other music wish they till they die. He sung ;--and of two happy sprites For never yet disease, or grief, or pain, Who live and revel in delights

Within thy breast the living lyre hath found, For ever, nigbt and day.

Whose chords send forth that touching And who, even of immortal birth,

Or that for Heaven have left this earth, Sing on! sing on! it is a lovely air.
Were e'er more blest than they!

Well could thy mother sing it when a maid:
Yet strange it is in this wild Indian glade.

To list a tune that breathes of nothing there,
But shall that bliss endure for ever? A tune that by his mountain-springs,
And shall these consecrated groves

Beside his slumbering lambkins fair,
Behold and cherish their immortal loves ? The Cambrian shepherd sings.
Or must it come, the hour that is to sever
Those whom the Ocean in his wrath did


The air on her sweet lips hath died, Awful that thought, and, like unto despair, And as a harper, when his tune is playa, Oft to their hearts it sends an icy chill; Pathetic though it be, with smiling brow Pain, death they fear not, come they when Haply doth careless fling his harp aside,

they will,

Even so regardlessly upstarteth now, But the same fate together let them share; With playful frolic, the light-hearted maid, For how could either hope to die resign'd, As if, with a capricious gladness, If God should say: One must remain behind! She strove to mock the soul of sadness, Yet wisely doth the spirit shrink

Then mourning through the glade. From thought, when it is death to think: Light as a falling leaf that springs Or haply, a kind being turns

Away before the zephyr's wings, To brighter hopes the soul that mourns Amid the verdure seems to lie In killing woe; else many an eye,

of motion reft, then suddenly, Now glad, would weep its destiny. With bird-like flattering, mounts on high, Even so it fares with them: they wish to live Up yon steep hill's unbroken side, Long on this island, lonely though it be. Behold the little Fairy glide. Old age itself to them would pleasure give, Though free her breath, untired her limh.

For through the air she seems to swim, Her sweet eyes, and fair brow.
Yet oft she stops to look behind

How beautiful upon the wave
On them below ;-till with the wind The vessel sails, who comes to save!
She flies again, and on the hill-top far Fitting it was that first she shone
Shines like the spirit of the evening star. Before the wondering eyes of one,
Nor lingers long: as if a sight

So beautiful as thou.
Half-fear, half-wonder, urged her flight, See how before the wind she goes,
In rapid motion, winding still

Scattering the waves like melting snows ! To break the steepness of the hill,

Her course with glory fills With leaps, and springs, and out-stretch'd The sea for many a league!-Descending,


She stoopeth now into the vale, More graceful in her vain alarms,

Now, as more freshly blows the gale, The child ontstrips the ocean-gale,

She mounts in triumph o'er the watery hills. In haste to tell her wondrous tale.

Oh! whither is she tending? Her parents' joyful hearts admire,

She holds in sight yon shelter'd bay ; of peacock's plumes her glancing tire, As for her crew, how blest are they! All bright with tiny suns,

See! how she veerg around! And the gleamings of the feathery gold, Back whirl the waves with louder sound; That play along each wavy fold

And now her prow points to the land :
Of her mantle as she runs.

For the Ship, at her glad lord's command,
Doth well her helm obey.

What ails my child? her mother crics, Seeing the wildness in her eyes,

They cast their eyes around the isle: The wonder on her cheek;

But what a change is there! But fearfully she beckons still,

For ever fled that lonely smile Up to her watch-tower on the hill,

That lay on earth and air, Ere one word can she speak.

That made its haunts so still and holy, My Father! Mother! quickly fly

Almost for bliss too melancholy,
Up to the green-hill-top with me,

For life too wildly fair.
And tell me what you there descry; Gone-gone is all its loneliness,
For a cloud hath fallen from the sky, And with it much of loveliness.
And is sailing on the sea.

Into each deep glen's dark recens,
They wait not to hear that word again: The day-shine pours like rain,
The steep seems level as the plain,

So strong and sudden is the light
And up they glide with ease :

Reflected from that wonder bright,
They stand one moment on the height Now tilting o’er the Main.
agony, then bless the sight,

Soon as the thundering cannon spoke,
And drop upon their knees.

The voice of the evening-gun A Ship!--no more can Mary say,

The spell of the enchantment broke, A blessed Ship! and faints away.

Like dew beneath the sun. Not so the happy sight subdues

Soon shall they hear th' unwonted cheers Fitz-Owen's beart;- he calmly views Of these delighted mariners, The gallant vessel toss

And the loud sound of the car, Her prow superbly up and down,

As bending back away they pull, As if she wore the Ocean-Crown;

With measured pause, most beautiful, And now, exulting in the breeze,

Approaching to the shore.
With new-woke English pride he sees For her yards are bare of man and sail,
St. George's blessed Cro88.

Nor moves the giant to the gale;
But, on the Ocean's breast,

With storm-proof cables, stretching far,
Behold them now, the happy three, There lies the stately Ship of War;
Hang up a signal o'er the sea,

And glad is she of rest. And shout with echoing sound, While, gladden'd by her parents' bliss, The child prints many a playful kiss Ungrateful ye ! and will yc sail away, l'pon their hands, or, mad with glee, And leave your bower to flourish and decay, Is dancing round and round.

Without one parting tear? Scarce doth the thoughtless infant know Where you have slept, and loved, and pray'd, Why thus their tears like rain should flow, And with your smiling infant play'd Yet she must also weep;

For many a blessed year! Such tears as innocence doth shed

No! not in vain that bower hath shed Upon its undisturbed bed,

Its blossoms o'er your marriage-bed, When dreaming in its sleep.

Nor the sweet Moon look'd down in vain, And oft, and oft, her father presses Forgetful of her heavenly reign, Her breast to his, and bathes her tresses, On them whose pure and holy bliss

Even beautified that wilderness.

O blessed child! cach artless tone To every rock, and glade, and dell, Of that sweet voice, thus plaintively You now breathe forth a sad farewell. Breathing of comfort to thyself unknown, Say! wilt thou ever murmur on

Who feelest not how beautiful thou art, With that same voice when we are gone, Sinks like an anthem's pious melody Beloved stream!-Ye birds of light! Into thy father's agitated heart, And in your joy as musical as bright, And makes it calm and tranquil as thy own. Still will you pour that thrilling strain, A shower of kisses bathes thy smiling face, Unheard by us who sail the distant main ? And thou, rejoicing once again to hear We leave our nuptial bower to you! The voice of love so pleasant to thine ear, There still your harmless loves renew, Thorough the brake, and o'er the lawn, And there, as they who left it, blest, Bounding along like a sportive fawn, The loveliest ever build your nest. With laugh and song renewst thy devious Farewell once more--for now and ever!.

race; Yet, though unhoped-for mercy sever Or round them, like a guardian sprite, Our lives from thee, where grief might Dancing with more than mortal grace,

come at last; Steepest their gazing souls in still delight. Yet whether chain'd in tropic calms, For how could they, thy parents, see Or driven before the blast,

Thy innocent and fearless glee, Most surely shall our spirits never

And not forget, but one short hour ago, Forget the Isle of Palms.

When the Ship sail'd away, how bitter was

their woe?

- Most like a dream it doth appear, What means the Ship? Fitz-Owen cries, When she, the vanish'd Ship, was heresAnd scarce can trust his startled eyes,-- A glimpse of joy, that, while it shone, While safely she at anchor swings, Was surely passing-swcet :-now it is gone, Why doth she thus expand her wings? Not worth one single tear. She will not surely leave the bay, Whore sweetly smiles the closing day, As if it tempted her to stay ? O cruel Ship! 'tis even 60 : No sooner come than in haste to go; Angel of bliss! and fiend of woe!

CANTO IV. -Oh! let that God who brought her here, My husband's wounded spirit cheer! Mayhap the ship for months and years A SUMMER-NICAT descends in balm Hath been among the storms, and fears On the orange-bloom, and the stately Palm, Yon lowering cloud, that on the wave Of that romantic steep, Flings down the shadow of a grave; Where, silent as the silent hour, For well thou knowst the bold can be 'Mid the soft leaves of their Indian bower, By shadows daunted, when they sail the sea. Three happy spirits sleep. Think, in our own lost Ship, when o'er our head and we will leave them to themselves, Walk'd the sweet Moon in unobscured light, To the moon and the stars, these happy elver, How oft the sailors gazed with causeless To the murmuring wave, and the zephyr's dread

wing, On her, the glory of the innocent night, That dreams of gentlest joyance bring As if in those still hours of heavenly joy, To bathe their slumbering eyes; They saw a spirit smiling to destroy. And on the moving clouds of night, Trust that, when morning brings her light, High o'er the main will take our flight, The sun will shew a glorious sight, Where beauteous Albion lies. This very Ship in joy returning

Wondrous, and strange, and fair, I ween, With outspread sails and ensigns burning, The sounds, the forms, the hues have been To quench in bliss our causeless mourning.– of these delightful groves ; - Father! look with kinder eyes And mournful as the melting sky, On me,-the Fairy-infant cries.

Or a faint-remember'd melody, Though oft thy face hath look'd most sad, The story of their loves. At times when I was gay and glad, Yet though they sleep, those breathings wild. These are not like thy other sighs.

That told of the Fay-like sylvan child, But that I saw my Father grieve,

And of them who live in lonely bliss,
Most happy when yon thing did leave Like bright flowers of the wilderness,
Our shorer, was I:-- 'Mid waves and wind, Happy and beauteous as the sky
Where, Father! could we ever find That views them with a loving eye.
So sweet an island as our own?

Another tale I have to sing,
And so we all would think, I well believe, Whose low and plaintive murmuring
Lamenting, when we look'd behind, May well thy heart beguile,
That the Isle of Palms was gone.- And when thou weepst along with me.

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