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Open their hearts before Thee, pouring out
All that they think and feel, with tears of joy;
And benedictions not unheard in heaven:

And friend in the ear of friend, where speech is free
To follow truth, is eloquent as they.

Then let the Book receive in these prompt lines A just memorial; and thine eyes consent To read that they, who mark thy course, behold A life declining with the golden light Of summer, in the season of sere leaves; See cheerfulness undamped by stealing Time; See studied kindness flow with easy stream, Illustrated with inborn courtesy ;

And an habitual disregard of self

Balanced by vigilance for others' weal.

And shall the Verse not tell of lighter gifts
With these ennobling attributes conjoined
And blended, in peculiar harmony,

By Youth's surviving spirit? What agile grace!
A nymph-like liberty, in nymph-like form,
Beheld with wonder; whether floor or path

Thou tread; or sweep-borne on the managed steed-
Fleet as the shadows, over down or field,

Driven by strong winds at play among the clouds.
Yet one word more-one farewell word—a wish
Which came, but it has passed into a prayer-
That, as thy sun in brightness is declining,
So-at an hour yet distant for their sakes
Whose tender love, here faltering on the way
Of a diviner love, will be forgiven-

So

may it set in peace, to rise again For everlasting glory won by faith.

357

XIX.

GRACE DARLING.

AMONG the dwellers in the silent fields
The natural heart is touched, and public way
And crowded street resound with ballad strains,
Inspired by ONE whose very name bespeaks
Favour divine, exalting human love;

Whom, since her birth on bleak Northumbria's coast,
Known unto few but prized as far as known,

A single Act endears to high and low

Through the whole land—to Manhood, moved in spite
Of the world's freezing cares—to generous Youth-
To Infancy, that lisps her praise—to Age
Whose eye reflects it, glistening through a tear
Of tremulous admiration. Such true fame
Awaits her now; but, verily, good deeds
Do not imperishable record find

Save in the rolls of heaven, where hers may live

A theme for angels, when they celebrate

The high-souled virtues which forgetful earth

Has witnessed. Oh! that winds and waves could speak
Of things which their united power called forth
From the pure depths of her humanity!

A Maiden gentle, yet, at duty's call,

Firm and unflinching, as the Lighthouse reared
On the Island-rock, her lonely dwelling-place;
Or like the invincible Rock itself that braves,
Age after age, the hostile elements,

As when it guarded holy Cuthbert's cell.

All night the storm had raged, nor ceased, nor paused, When, as day broke, the Maid, through misty air, Espies far off a Wreck, amid the surf,

Beating on one of those disastrous isles-
Half of a Vessel, half-no more; the rest
Had vanished, swallowed up with all that there
Had for the common safety striven in vain,
Or thither thronged for refuge. With quick glance
Daughter and Sire through optic-glass discern,
Clinging about the remnant of this Ship,
Creatures-how precious in the Maiden's sight!
For whom, belike, the old Man grieves still more
Than for their fellow-sufferers engulfed

Where every parting agony is hushed,
And hope and fear mix not in further strife.
"But courage, Father! let us out to sea—
A few may yet be saved." The Daughter's words,
Her earnest tone, and look beaming with faith,
Dispel the Father's doubts: nor do they lack
The noble-minded Mother's helping hand

To launch the boat; and with her blessing cheered,
And inwardly sustained by silent prayer,

Together they put forth, Father and Child!

Each grasps an oar, and struggling on they go-
Rivals in effort; and, alike intent

Here to elude and there surmount, they watch
The billows lengthening, mutually crossed
And shattered, and re-gathering their might;
As if the tumult, by the Almighty's will
Were, in the conscious sea, roused and prolonged
That woman's fortitude—so tried, so proved—
May brighten more and more!

True to the mark,

They stem the current of that perilous gorge,
Their arms still strengthening with the strengthening

heart,

Though danger, as the Wreck is neared, becomes
More imminent. Not unseen do they approach;
And rapture, with varieties of fear

Incessantly conflicting, thrills the frames
Of those who, in that dauntless energy,
Foretaste deliverance; but the least perturbed
Can scarcely trust his eyes, when he perceives.
That of the pair-tossed on the waves to bring
Hope to the hopeless, to the dying, life—
One is a Woman, a poor earthly sister,
Or, be the Visitant other than she seems,
A guardian Spirit sent from pitying Heaven,
In woman's shape. But why prolong the tale,
Casting weak words amid a host of thoughts
Armed to repel them? Every hazard faced
And difficulty mastered, with resolve
That no one breathing should be left to perish,
This last remainder of the crew are all
Placed in the little boat, then o'er the deep
Are safely borne, landed upon the beach,
And, in fulfilment of God's mercy, lodged

Within the sheltering Lighthouse.-Shout, ye Waves!
Send forth a song of triumph. Waves and Winds,
Exult in this deliverance wrought through faith
In Him whose Providence your rage hath served!
Ye screaming Sea-mews, in the concert join!
And would that some immortal Voice-a Voice
Fitly attuned to all that gratitude

Breathes out from floor or couch, through pallid lips
Of the survivors-to the clouds might bear-

Blended with praise of that parental love,
Beneath whose watchful eye the Maiden grew
Pious and pure, modest and yet so brave,
Though young so wise, though meek so resolute-
Might carry to the clouds and to the stars,
Yea, to celestial Choirs, GRACE DARLING's name!

1842.

XX.

THE RUSSIAN FUGITIVE.

[EARLY in life this story had interested me, and I often thought it would make a pleasing subject for an opera or musical drama.]

PART I.

ENOUGH of rose-bud lips, and eyes
Like harebells bathed in dew,
Of cheek that with carnation vies,
And veins of violet hue;

Earth wants not beauty that may scorn
A likening to frail flowers;

Yea, to the stars, if they were born

For seasons and for hours.

Through Moscow's gates, with gold unbarred,
Stepped One at dead of night,

Whom such high beauty could not guard

From meditated blight;

By stealth she passed, and fled as fast

As doth the hunted fawn,

Nor stopped, till in the dappling east
Appeared unwelcome dawn.

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