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Up, little Nautilus!-Thy day
Of life and joy is come:-away!
The ocean's flood, that gleams so bright
Beneath the morning's ruddy light,
With gentlest surge scarce ripples o'er
The lucid gems that pave the shore;
Each billow wears its little spray,
As maids wear wreaths on holiday;
And maid ne'er danced on velvet

green

More blithely round the May's young queen,
Than thou shalt dance o'er yon bright sea
That wooes thy prow so lovingly.

Then lift thy sail!-T is shame to rest,

Here on the sand, thy pearly breast.
Away! thou first of mariners:-
Give to the wind all idle fears;

Thy freight demands no jealous care,—
Yet navies might be proud to bear
The wonderous wealth, the unbought spell,
That load thy ruby-cinctured shell.
A heart is there to nature true,
Which wrath nor envy ever knew,-
A heart that calls no creature foe,
And ne'er designed another's woe ;-
A heart whose joy o'erflows its home,
Simply because sweet spring is come,
Up, beauteous Nautilus!-Away!
The idle muse that chides thy stay
Shall watch thee long, with anxious eye,
O'er thy bright course delighted fly;

And, when black storms deform the main,
Cry welcome to the sands again!

Heaven grant, that she through life's wild sea

May sail as innocent as thee;

And, homeward turned, like thee may find
Sure refuge from the wave and wind.

Literary Souvenir.

[graphic]

SONG.

SAY a kind farewell, my Mary!

Here's a kind farewell to thee!
"Tis the last time ever, Mary,
Thou 'lt say farewell to me.
I'll not depart in sorrow,

Nor mourn upon the shore;
But I'll smile upon to morrow,
And the sea-wave and its roar.

I dreamed a heart was mine,
With its passion and its joy;
And oh the heart was thine,
And I loved it as a boy.
But all is over now, Mary,

The dream and the delight;
And I'll bury all beside, Mary,
In forgetfulness to night.

I'll sing the song that others sing;
I'll pass the jest with all;

And I will not tame my spirit's wing

In banquet or in hall;

But I'll fill one cup alone, Mary,

To drown thy maiden spell;
And I'll drain that cup to thee, Mary,
For a health and a farewell!

When the snow-white sails are set,
And the seaward gale is blowing,

My eyes shall not be wet;

My tears shall not be flowing :
But when England fades away, Mary,

And I'm lone upon the sea;

Oh! I'll look towards England then, Mary,
And sigh farewell to thee.

The Etonian.

G. M.

THE LAMENT OF COLUMBUS..

Nor mine the dreams,

The vague chimeras of an earth-stained soul,
O'er which the mists of error darkly roll;

For Heaven-sent beams

Have chased the gloom that round my soul was flung,
And pierced the clouds that o'er Creation's mysteries hung.

From my youth up

For this high purpose was I set apart·

An unbreathed thought, it lived within my heart;
And though life's cup

Was filled with all earth's agonies, I quaffed
Unmurmuring, for that hope could sweeten any draught.

There were who jeered,

And laughed to scorn my visionary scheme;
They thought yon glorious sun's resplendent beam
So brightly cheered

And vivified alone the spot of earth

Where they, like worms, had lived and grovelled from their birth.

But, called by God,

From home and friends my willing steps I turned;
Led by the light that in my spirit burned,

Strange lands I trod;

And lo! new worlds uncurtained by my hand,
Before the' admiring East in pristine beauty stand.

And what was given

To recompense the many nameless toils

That won my king a new-found empire's spoils ?
The smile of heaven

"

Blessed him who sought amid those Eden plains
To plant the holy cross; but man's reward was chains.

Forgot by all,

Amid a land of Savages, I wait

From cruel hostile hands my coming fate;
Or else to fall

Beneath the grief that weighs upon my heart,
While unaneled, unblessed, my spirit must depart.

How have I wept

In pity for my followers, when afar

O'er the wide sea with scarce a guiding star
Our course we kept;

But night winds only o'er my grave shall sigh;
For, bowed by cruel wrongs, on stranger shores, I die.

No selfish hope

Of fame or honour led me here again
To tread this weary pilgrimage of pain-
He who must cope

With treachery and wrong, until the flame
Of pure ambition dies, has nought to do with fame.

To serve my king

I came, with zeal unkindness could not chill;
To glorify my God, whose holy will

Taught me to fling

The veil of error from before my eyes,

And teach mankind His power as shewn 'neath other skies.

Weep for me, Earth!

Thou, whose bright wonders I have oft explored;

Weep for me Heaven! to whose proud heights has soared, E'en from its birth,

My strong-winged spirit in its might alone;

Lo! he who gave new worlds now dies unwept, unknown.

THE VOICE OF PRAISE.

BY MISS MITFORD.

THRRE is a voice of magic power

To charm the old, delight the young

In lordly hall, in rustic bower,

In every clime, in every tongue,
Howe'er its sweet vibration rung,

In whispers low, in poet's lays,

There lives not one who has not hung Enraptured on the voice of praise.

The timid child, at that soft voice,
Lifts for a moment's space the eye;
It bids the fluttering heart rejoice,
And stays the step prepared to fly :
'Tis pleasure breathes that short, quick sigh,
And flushes o'er that rosy face;

Whilst shame and infant modesty
Shrink back with hesitating grace.

The lovely maiden's dimpled cheek
At that sweet voice still deeper glows;
Her quivering lips in vain would seek
To hide the bliss her eyes disclose;
The charm her sweet confusion shows
Oft springs from some low broken word:
O praise! to her how sweetly flows
Thine accent from the loved one heard!

The hero, when a people's voice

Proclaims their darling victor near,
Feels he not then his soul rejoice,

Their shouts of love, of praise to hear?
Yes! fame to generous minds is dear;-

It pierces to their inmost core;

He weeps, who never shed a tear; He trembles, who ne'er shook before.

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