Up, little Nautilus!-Thy day green More blithely round the May's young queen, Then lift thy sail!-T is shame to rest, Here on the sand, thy pearly breast. Thy freight demands no jealous care,— And, when black storms deform the main, Heaven grant, that she through life's wild sea May sail as innocent as thee; And, homeward turned, like thee may find Literary Souvenir. SONG. SAY a kind farewell, my Mary! Here's a kind farewell to thee! Nor mourn upon the shore; I dreamed a heart was mine, The dream and the delight; I'll sing the song that others sing; 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; When the snow-white sails are set, My eyes shall not be wet; My tears shall not be flowing : And I'm lone upon the sea; Oh! I'll look towards England then, Mary, The Etonian. G. M. THE LAMENT OF COLUMBUS.. Nor mine the dreams, The vague chimeras of an earth-stained soul, For Heaven-sent beams Have chased the gloom that round my soul was flung, From my youth up For this high purpose was I set apart· An unbreathed thought, it lived within my heart; Was filled with all earth's agonies, I quaffed There were who jeered, And laughed to scorn my visionary scheme; 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; Strange lands I trod; And lo! new worlds uncurtained by my hand, And what was given To recompense the many nameless toils That won my king a new-found empire's spoils ? " Blessed him who sought amid those Eden plains Forgot by all, Amid a land of Savages, I wait From cruel hostile hands my coming fate; Beneath the grief that weighs upon my heart, How have I wept In pity for my followers, when afar O'er the wide sea with scarce a guiding star But night winds only o'er my grave shall sigh; No selfish hope Of fame or honour led me here again With treachery and wrong, until the flame To serve my king I came, with zeal unkindness could not chill; 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, 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, Whilst shame and infant modesty The lovely maiden's dimpled cheek The hero, when a people's voice Proclaims their darling victor near, Their shouts of love, of praise to hear? It pierces to their inmost core; He weeps, who never shed a tear; He trembles, who ne'er shook before. |