"And if you please to see them now, "Have done!" said I, “ thou mariner old, I looked up to the lady moon, She was but like a glow-worm's spark; And we had no mast, we had no ropes, And the stores I brought from the charmed isle, In the seven days' sail were spent. But the Nautilus was a patient thing, And for thrice seven nights we sail'd and sail'd: Where I built my bark, and my mother's house, 'Mong the green hills where it lay. "Farewell!" said I to the Nautilus, But I'll sail with thee no more." DELICIE MARIS. ONCE, when I was a thoughtless child, And a mariner sate by me; And thus he spake :-"For seventy years I've sail'd upon the sea. "Thou thinkest that the earth is fair, And full of strange delight; Yon little brook, that murmurs by, Is glorious in thy sight. "Thou callest yon poor butterfly "Thou speak'st as if God only made Yet I blame thee not, thou simple child! "But the ocean-fields are free to all, With the heavens above, and round about, For I know, where'er a sail is spread, "Up to the north,-the polar north, To the land of the thawless snow. "We were hemmed in by icy rocks, "The sea was parted for Israel, "And a miracle as great was wrought For us in the polar sea, When the rocks were rent, from peak to base, And our southern course was free! "Yet, amid those seas so wild and stern, Where man hath left no trace, "Great kings have piled up pyramids, By a thousand winters hew'd; And the ancient solitude! "And then we sailed to the tropic seas, "I have looked down to those ocean depths, "The red, the green, and the beautiful "Some, they were like the lily of June, Or as if some poet's glorious thought "And then the million creatures bright "When 'neath the trees that God had set, The land was free to all; "There are no wastes of burning sand, There's neither heat nor cold; And there doth spring the diamond mine, "There, with the divers of the East, Who down in those depths have been, I've conversed of the marvels strange, And the glories they had seen. "And they say, each one, not halls of kings With the ocean-caves can vie, With the untrod caves of the carbuncle, "And well I wot it must be so: The miser-treasures of the earth; "Then I've cross'd the line full fifteen times, And down in the southern sea I've seen the whales, like bounding lambs, "Leap up, the creatures that God had made, "But, my little child, thou sittest here, Still gazing on yon stream, And the wondrous things that I have told "But to me they are as living thoughts, More glorious than the land: "For when at first the world awoke Not on the land the Spirit of God FLOWERS. On the third day of creation, Before mankind had birth, Ten thousand thousand flowers sprang up, To beautify the earth: From the rejoicing earth sprang up Each radiant, bursting bud; And now, as then, ten thousand flowers The red rose is the red rose still; II. Ye flowers More glorious and more wondrous far Heard how the mountains rang, Ere fear was felt, or pain; Go sporting o'er the plain! Sprang, when the floods were dried, The floating ark was stayed, And the freshness of the flowering earth The Patriarch first surveyed, Ye saw across the heavens The new-made bended bow,- Should rage beyond their shore; III. Oh flowers! sweet, goodly flowers! Fit emblems, were ye strewn! For in their souls ye wrought, But greater far than all Our blessed Lord did see They toil not, neither spin, And God, himself, the garment made Was not like them arrayed ;- THE SALE OF THE PET LAMB OF THE That had a place within their hearts, as one of the family. But want, even as an armed man, came down upon their shed, The father laboured all day long, that his children might be fed; And, one by one, their household things, were sold to buy them bread. That father, with a downcast eye, upon his threshold stood, Gaunt poverty each pleasant thought had in his heart subdued; "What is the creature's life to us?" said he, "'t will buy us food! OH! poverty is a weary thing, 't is full of grief and « pain, It boweth down the heart of man, and dulls his cunning brain, It maketh even the little child with heavy sighs complain! The children of the rich man have not their bread to win: They hardly know how labour is the penalty of sin; And year by year, as life wears on, no wants have In all the luxury of the earth they have abundant share ; Ay, though the children weep all day, and with down-drooping head Each does his small craft mournfully!- the hungry must be fed; And that which has a price to bring, must go, to buy us bread!" It went-oh! parting has a pang the hardest heart to wring, But the tender soul of a little child with fervent love doth cling, With love that hath no feignings false, unto each gentle thing! Therefore most sorrowful it was those children small to see, They walk among life's pleasant ways, and never Most sorrowful to hear them plead for their pet so know a care. piteously; The children of the poor man though they be "Oh! mother dear, it loveth us; and what beside young, each one, Early in the morning they rise up before the rising sun, done. Few things have they to call their own, to fill their hearts with pride, The sunshine of the summer's day, the flowers on the highway side, have we? "Let's take him to the broad, green hills," in his impotent despair, Said one strong boy, "let's take him off, the hills are wide and fair; I know a little hiding-place, and we will keep him there!" Or their own free companionship, on the heathy com- "T was vain!-they took the little lamb, and straightmon wide. Hunger, and cold, and weariness, these are a frightful three; But another curse there is beside, that darkens poverty: way tied him down, With a strong cord they tied him fast ;-and o'er the common brown, And o'er the hot and flinty roads, they took him to the town. It may not have one thing to love, how small soe'er The little children through that day, and throughout A thousand flocks were on the hills-a thousand From everything about the house a mournful thought flocks, and more, did borrow; Feeding in sunshine pleasantly, they were the rich The very bread they had to eat was food unto their man's store; There was the while, one little lamb, beside a cottage door: sorrow! Oh! poverty is a weary thing, 't is full of grief and pain A little lamb that did lie down with the children It keepeth down the soul of man, as with an iron 'neath the tree; chain; That ate, meek creature, from their hands, and nes- It maketh even the little child, with heavy sighs tled to their knee; complain! 205 THE FAERY OATH. "THY Voice is weak, thine eyes are dim," The holy father said to him; "The damp of death is on thy brow,What is thy sin?-confess it now! Confess it ere it be too late; Is it blood, or pride, or restless hate?" "I have shed no blood," he thus replied, "I have hated none - -I have known no pride,- But he raised himself and his words were slow:- I had knowledge of each herb and tree; I watched the lightning's subtle flame; Till I knew them all, and at will could bring And I heard the sound of their ceaseless feet; Was cool on my cheek. and lifted my hair;— And through thick woods, where the air was cold: O'er sandy wastes, and the furzy wold: There were fountains, that poured forth purple wine! As if o'erburthened with melody!— I dwelt 'mong the faeries, their merry king,— I danced on the earth, in the charmèd ring; Till thrice seven years, as a day, had sped ; I laid me down on the Leeder brae. He was lean, and crabbed, and old, His voice was thick, and his prayers were cold,- I blessed the child from my inmost heart, Still on she read, sedate and low, And at every word I was wrung with woe; For she taught what I ne'er had known before And my human heart was shook with dread; Down I knelt, and I strove to pray, But never a hope to my soul found way; I have wrestled hard, I have fiercely striven My son," the reverend friar spake, Behold! how the faëry web shall break; Thou hast fought the fight-thou hast battled long And the victor here is not the strong; With thee, the dead are blest:-they have gone forth, Thou knowest not whither, but to some fair home, Brighter, far brighter than our summer earth,Where sorrow cannot come. It matters not to thee, that angel-guest What marvel, then, that thou shouldest shed no tear, Standing beside the dead, that thou shouldst wreathe Thyself with flowers, and thy bright beauty wear Oh! thou undoubting one, who from the tree With thine unclouded brow! Thy faith is knowledge, and without a fear I will not doubt-like thee I will arise, Then may I see the beautiful depart, The fair flowers of my spring-time fade and die, With an unquestioning, unrebellious heart, Strong in God's certainty! AMERICA. A STORY OF THE INDIAN WAR. "I WAS at William Penn's country-house, called Pensbury, in Pennsylvania, where I staid some days. Much of my time I spent in seeing William Penn, and many of the chief men among the Indians, in council concerning their former covenant, now renewed on his going away for England. To pass by several particulars, I may mention the following: They never broke covenant with any people,' said one of their great chiefs; and, smiting his hand upon his head, he said, 'they made not their covenants there, but here,' said he, smiting on his breast three times. "I, being walking in the woods, espied several wigwams, and drew towards them. The love of God filled my heart; and I felt it right to look for an interpreter, which I did. Then I signified that I was come from a far country with a message from the Great Spirit (as they call God,) and my message was to endeavour to persuade them that they should not be drunkards, nor steal, nor kill one another, nor fight, nor put away their wives for small faults; for |